1 864 -194 1 


THE   BLUE   PARASOL.     Page  47. 


LITTLE  fltVDY'S  FLYAWAY  SERIES. 


AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


SOPHIE    MAY, 


AUTHOB  OF  "LITTLE  PBUDY  STORIES,"  "DOTTY  DIMPLE 
STOBIES,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON: 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

NEW  YORK: 
LEE,  SHEPARD  AND  DILLINGHAM. 

1874. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871, 

BY  LEE  ANT'  ^HEPARD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Electrotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
No.  19  Spring  Lane. 


LITTLE  PRUDT'S  FLTAWAT  SERIES. 


TO  BE  COMPLETED  IN  SIX  VOLS. 


1.  LITTLE    IHO1L.KS 

2.  FRTJDY    KEEIPnSTO    HOTJSE. 

3.  ATIHSTT    IM^LlD&E'S    STORY. 

(Others  in  preparation.) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  TOTTY-WAX .9 

II.  THE*  LADY  CHILD 20 

III.  THE  BLUE  PARASOL 38 

IV.  LIZE  JANE 55 

V.  THE  PARTY .  69 

VI.  THE  PATCHWORK  SCHOOL.        .         .  87 

VII.  THE  LITTLE  LIE-GIRL 108 

VIII.  THE  TANSY   CHEESE.        .         .         '        -  I22 

IX.  "  WAXERATION."          * 14° 

X.  "THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE."     ....  159 

XI.  THE  FIRST  CAR  RIDE 174 

XII.  BETTER  THAN  KITTENS 188 

XIII.  GOOD  BY.     ...••••  1" 

(7) 


V 

AUNT  MADGE'S   STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TOTTY-WAX. 

4k- 

HERE  you  sit,  Horace,  Prudy,  Dotty,  and 
Flyaway,  all  waiting  for  a  story.  How  shall 
I  begin?  I  cannot  remember  .the  events  of 
my  life  in  right  order,  so  I  shall  have  to  tell 
them  as  they  come  into  my  mind.  Let  us 
see.  To  go  back  to  the  long,  long  summer, 
when  I  was  a  child  : 

There  once  lived  and  moved  a  little  try- 
patience,  called  Margaret  Parlin ;  no  more 
nor  less  a  personage  than  myself,  your  affec 
tionate  auntie,  and  very  humble  servant.  I 


10     l;  V    Au      MADGES  STORY. 

w^**5aff  •re8tlc*ss:k**Mby 'as  ever  sat  on  a 
papa's  knee  and  was  trotted  to  w  Boston." 
When  I  cried,  my  womanly  sister  'Ria, 
seven  years  old,  thought  I  was  very  silly ; 
and  my  brother  Ned,  aged  four,  said,  "Div 
her  a  pill ;  I  would  !  " 

He  thought  pills  would  cure  naughtiness. 
If  so,  I  ought  to  have  swallowed  some. 
Pity  they  didn't  w  div  "  me  a  whole  box  full 
before  I  began  to  creep ;  for  I  crept  straight 
into  mischief.  Aunt  Persis,  a  very  proper 
woman,  with  glittering  black  eyes,  was 
more  shocked  by  me  than  words  can  tell. 
She  said  your  grandma  "  spoiled  me  by 
baby-talk ;  it  was  very  wrong  to  let  little 
ones  hear  baby-talk.  If  she  had  had  the 
care  of  me  she  would  have  taught  me  gram 
mar  from  the  cradle."  No  doubt  of  it ;  but 
unfortunately  I  had  to  grow  up  with  my 
own  father  and  mother,  and  ever  so  many 


TOTTY-WAX.  11 

other  folks,  who  were  not  half  as  wise  as 
Aunt  Persis. 

They  called  me  Marg'et,  Maggie,  Marjie, 
Madge ;  and  your  grandpa's  pet  name  was 
Totty-wax  ;  only,  if  I  joggled  the  floor  when 
he  shaved,  it  was  full-length  w  Mar-ga-ret." 

I  was  a  sad  little  minx,  so  everybody 
kindly  informed  me,  and  so  I  fully  believed. 
My  motto  in  my  little  days  seems  to  have 
been,  "Speak  twice  before  you  think  once;" 
and  you  will  see  what  troubles  it  led  me 
into.  I  never  failed  to  "speak  twice,"  but 
often  forgot  the  thinking  altogether.  Mar 
garet  means  Daisy ;  but  if  I  was  like  any 
flower  at  all,  I  should  say  it  was  "the  lady 
in  the  bower."  You  know  it,  Prudy,  how 
it  peeps  out  from  a  tangle  of  little  tendrils  ? 
Just  so  I  peeped  out,  and  was  dimly  seen, 
through  a  wild,  flying  head  of  hair.  Your 
grandma  was  ashamed  of  me,  for  if  she  cut 


12  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

off  my  hair  I  was  taken  for  a  boy,  and  if  she 
let  it  grow,  there  was  danger  of  my  getting 
a  squint  in  my  eye.  Sometimes  I  ran  into 
the  house  very  much  grieved,  and  said, — 

"O,  mamma,  I  wasn't  doin'  noffin,  only 
sitting  top  o'  the  gate,  and  a  man  said, 
'Who's  that  funny  little  fellow?'— Please, 
mamma,  won't  you  not  cut  my  hair  no 
more  ?  " 

I  was  only  a  wee  bit  of  a  Totty-wax  when 
she  stopped  cutting  my  yellow  hair,  and 
braided  it  in  two  little  tails  behind.  The 
other  girls  had  braids  as  well  as  I ;  but,  alas  ! 
mine  were  not  straight  like  theirs;  they 
quirled  over  at  the  end.  I  hated  that  curly 
kink ;  if  it  didn't  go  off  it  would  bring  my 
gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

But,  children,  I  fear  some  of  the  stories  I 
told  were  crookeder  than  even  my  braids. 
In  the  first  place,  I  didn't  know  any  better. 


TOTTY-WAX.  13 

I  told  lies,  to  hear  how  funny  they  would 
sound.  My  imagination  was  large,  and  my 
common  sense  small.  I  lived  in  a  little 
world  of  my  own,  and  had  very  queer 
thoughts.  Perhaps  all  children  do ;  what 
think,  Fly?  When  I  was  lying  in  the 
cradle  I  found  my  hands  one  day,  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  thought  they  were  two 
weeny  babies  come  visiting;  what  do  you 
suppose?  Of  course  I  didn't  know  they 
belonged  to  me,  but  I  stared  at  them,  and 
tried  to  talk.  And  from  that  time  until  I 
was  a  great  girl,  as  much  as  five  years  old, 
I  was  always  supposing  things  were  "dif- 
funt  "  from  what  they  really  were.  I 
thought  our  andirons  were  made  of  gold, 
just  like  the  stars,  only  the  andirons  had 
enough  gold  in  them  to  sprinkle  the  whole 
sky,  and  leave  a  good  slice  to  make  a  new 
sun.  When  I  saw  a  rainbow,  I  asked  if 


14  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

it  was  "a  side-yalk  for  angels  to  yalk 
on?" 

I  thought  the  cat  heard  what  I  said  when 
I  talked  to  her,  and  if  I  picked  a  flower  I 
kissed  it,  for  "mebbe"  the  flower  liked  to 
be  kissed. 

I  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  "making  be 
lieve,"  all  to  myself.  I  made  believe  my 
mamma  had  said  I  might  go  somewhere, 
and  off  I  would  go,  thinking,  as  I  crept 
along  by  the  fence,  bent  almost  double  for 
fear  of  being  seen,  "Prehaps  she'll  tie  me  to 
the  bed-post  for  it." 

And  she  always  did. 

I  was  the  youngest  of  the  family  then, 
but  I  made  believe  I  had  once  had  a  sister 
Marjie,  no  bigger  than  my  doll,  and  a 
naughty  woman  in  a  green  cloak  came  and 
carried  her  off  in  her  pocket.  I  told  my 
little  friend  Euphelle  so  much  about  this 


TOTTY-WAX.  15 

other  Marjie  that  she  believed  in  her,  and 
after  a  while  I  believed  in  her  myself.  We 
used  to  sit  on  the  hay  and  talk  about  her, 
and  wonder  if  the  naughty  woman  would 
ever  bring  her  back.  We  thought  it  would 
be  nice  to  have  her  to  play  wTith. 

This  was  not  very  wicked;  it  was  only 
a  fairy  story.  But  the  mischief  was,  my 
dear  mother  did  not  know  where  to  draw 
the  line  between  fairy  stories  and  lies. 
Once  I  ran  away,  and  Mrs.  Gray  told  her 
she  had  seen  me  playing  on  the  meeting 
house  steps  with  Ann  Smilie. 

"No,  mamma,"  said  I,  catching  my 
breath,  "'t  wasn't  me  Mis'  Gray  saw;  I 
know  who  'twas.  There's  a  little  girl  in 
this  town  looks  jus'  like  me ;  has  hair  jus' 
the  same  ;  same  kind  o'  dress  ;  lives  right  un 
der  the  meeting-house.  Folks  think  it's  me  ! " 

Your  grandma  was  distressed  to  have  me 


16  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

look  her  straight  in  the  face  and  tell  such  a 
lie;  but  the  more  she  said,  "Why,  Mar 
garet  ! "  the  deeper  I  went  into  particulars. 

w  Name's  Jane  Smif.  Eats  acorns  ;  sleeps 
in  a  big  hole.  Didn't  you  never  hear  about 
her,  mamma?" 

As  I  spoke,  I  could  almost  see  Jane 
Srnif  creeping  slyly  out  of  the  big  hole  with 
mud  on  her  apron.  She  was  as  real  to  me 
as  some  of  the  little  girls  I  met  on  the 
street;  not  the  little  girls  I  played  with, 
but  those  who  w  came  from  over  the  river." 

My  dear  mother  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  a  child  that  had  such  a  habit  of 
making  up  stories ;  but  my  father  said, — 

"Totty-wax  doesn't  know  any  better." 

Mother  sighed,  and  answered,  rr  But  Maria 
always  knew  better." 

I  knew  there  was  "sumpin  bad"  about 
me,  but  thought  it  was  like  the  black  on  a 


TOTTY-WAX.  17 

negro's  face,  that  wouldn't  wash  off.  The 
idea  of  trying  to  stop  lying  never  entered 
my  head.  When  mother  took  me  out  of 
the  closet,  and  asked,  "Would  I  be  a  better 
girl?"  I  generally  said,  "Yes  urn,"  very 
promptly,  and  cried  behind  my  yellow  hair; 
but  that  was  only  because  I  was  touched 
by  the  trembling  of  her  voice,  and  vaguely 
wished,  for  half  a  minute,  that  I  hadn't  made 
her  so  sorry  ;  that  was  all. 

But  when  I  told  that  amazing  story 
about  Jane  Smif,  in  addition  to  running 
away,  mother  whipped  me  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  with  a  birch  switch. 

"Margaret,"  said  she,   "if  you    ever   tell 

another    wrong    story,    I    shall    whip    you 

harder  than  this,  you  may  depend  upon  it." 

.  I   was    frightened    into  awful    silence  for 

a  while,  but  soon  forgot   the  threat.     I  was 

careful  to  avoid  the  name  of  Jane  Smif,  but 

2 


18  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

I  very  soon  went  and  told  Rnphelle  that 
my  mamma  had  silk  dresses,  spangled  with 
stars ;  "  kep5  'em  locked  into  a  trunk ;  did 
her  mamma  have  stars  on  her  dresses  ? " 
Ruphelle  looked  as  meek  as  a  lamb,  but  her 
brother  Gust  snapped  his  fingers,  and  said, — 

"O,  what  a  whopper!" 

That  is  why  I  remember  it,  for  Euth 
heard  him,  and  asked  wrhat  kind  of  a  whop 
per  I  had  been  telling  now,  and  reported 
it  to  mother. 

Mother  rose  ,very  sorrowfully  from  her 
chair,  and  bade  me  follow  her  into  the 
attic.  I  went  with  fear  and  trembling,  for 
she  had  that  dreadful  switch  in  her  hand. 
Poor  woman !  She  wished  she  had  not 
promised  to  use  it  again,  for  she  began  to 
think  it  was  all  in  vain.  But  she  must  not 
break  her  word ;  so  she  struck  me  across 
the  wrists  and  ankles  several  times ;  not 


TOTTY-WAX.  19 

very  hard,  but  hard  enough  to  make  me  hop 
about  and  cry. 

When  she  had  finished  she  turned  to  go 
down  stairs,  but  I  said  something  so  strange 
that  she  stopped  short  with  surprise. 

"I  can't  'peud  upon  it,  mamma,"  said  I, 
looking  out  through  my  hair,  w7ith  the  tears 
all  dried  off.  "You  said  you'd  whip  me 
harder,  but  you  whipped  me  softer.  I  can't 
'pend  upon  it,  mamma.  You've  telled  a  lie 
yourse'f."  » 

What  could  mother  say?  I  have  often 
heard  her  describe  the  scene  with  a  droll 
smile.  She  gave  me  a  few  more  tingles 
across  the  neck,  to  satisfy  my  ideas  of  jus 
tice  ;  but  that  was  the  last  time  she  used 
the  switch  for  many  a  long  day.  Not  that 
I  stopped  telling  marvellous  stories ;  but 
she  thought  she  would  wait  till  she  saw  some 
faint  sign  in  me  that  I  knew  the  "diffunce" 
between  truth  and  falsehood. 


20  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    LADY    CHILD. 

THEY  say  I  grew  very  troublesome. 
Ruthie  thought  I  was  always  "  under  foot," 
and  nothing  went  on,  from  parlor  to  kitchen, 
from  attic  to  cellar,  but  I  knew  all  about  it. 
There  was  not  a  pie,  particularly  a  mince 
pie,  that  I  didn't  try  to  have  a  finger  in. 

But  I  could  not  have  been  in  the  house 
all  the  time,  for  Abner  declares  I  was  always 
out  of  doors.  My  little  shoes  were  gen 
erally  thick  with  mud,  and  my  little  frocks 
ready  every  night  for  the  wash-tub.  If 
there  was  a  spoon  or  a  knife  missing,  Ab 
ner  often  found  it  in  the  ploughed  field, 


•   THE    LADY    CHILD.  21 

-.. 

where  I  hud  been  using  it  as  a  kind  of  pick 
axe  to  dig  rny  way  through  to  China.  No 
matter  how  muddy  or  slippery  the  walking, 
I  begged  to  go  out.  I  had  a  feeling  that  I 
wanted  to  skip  like  a  lamb,  fly  like  a  bird, 
and  dart  like  a  squirrel,  and  of  course  need 
ed  all  out  doors  to  do  it  in. 

"Don't  fall  down,"  cried  mamma  from 
the  window;  "look  out  for  the  ice." 

And  I  answered  back  from  under  my  red, 
quilted  hood,  — 

"  Well,  if  I  do  fall  down  and  break  me, 
mamma,  you  mus'  pick  up  all  my  little  bones 
and  glue  'ern  togedder.  God  glued  'em  in 
the  firs'  place,  all  but  my  tongue,  and  that's 
nailed  in." 

Not  nailed  in  very  tight :  I  could  move 
it  fast  enough. 

And  when  the  snow  and  ice  were  gone, 
I  liked  to  wade  ankle-deep  in  the  mud. 


22  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Father  had  to  buy  me  a  pair  of  rubber  boots, 
and  that  is  the  first  present  I  remember. 
They  filled  niy  soul  with  joy.  When  I  said 
my  prayers  I  had  one  on  each  side  of  me, 
and  when  I  slept  it  was  with  both  boots  on 
my  pillow.  At  first  1  could  think  of  noth 
ing  else  to  \vish  for ;  but  one  day  I  said,  — 

"I  wish  I  was  a  pussy-cat,  mamma,  so  I 
'could  have  four  y libber  boots  !  " 

Brother  Ned  and  I  were  great  friends. 
Partly  to  keep  his  eye  on  me,  and  partly 
because  he  enjoyed  my  conversation,  he 
would  say  in  the  cool  spring  days, ?f  Come, 
Maggie,  dear,  bring  your  cloak,  and  I'll 
wrap  you  up  all  so  warm,  so  you  can  sit  out 
on  the  woodpile  while  I  chop  my  stint." 

I  think  he  must  have  been  a  little  fellow 
to  chop  w7ood.  After  I  got  there,  and  was 
having  a  good  time,  he  often  remarked,  in 
tones  as  cutting  as  the  edge  of  his  hatchet,  — 


THE    LADY    CHILD.  23 

"If  I  had  a  brother,  Miss  Maggie,  I 
shouldn't  take  pains  to  wrap  up  a  speck  of 
a  girl  like  you  for  company." 

"Well,  if  had  a  little  sister,  I  wouldn't  be 
yapped  up  for  comp'ny,"  retorted  I,  rub 
bing  my  small,  red  nose;  "I'd  be  a-yockin* 
her  cradle." 

Ned  laughed  at  that ;  for  it  was  just  what 
he  expected  me  to  say.  We  had  one  bond 
of  sympathy  ;  he  longed  for  a  little  brother, 
and  I  longed  for  a  little  sister.  He  liked  to 
hear  me  talk  grandly  about  w  my  new  baby- 
girlie,  Rosy  Posy  Parlin.  She  wouldn't 
bl'ong  to  him  any  'tall.  She'd  be  mine 
clear  through." 

He  led  me  on  to  snap  out  little  sharp 
speeches,  which  he  always  laughed  at ;  and 
I  suspect  that  was  one  thing  that  made  me 
so  pert.  I  looked  up  to  him  as  a  superi 
or  being,  except  when  I  was  angry  with 


24  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

him,  which  was  about  half  the  time.  I  told 
Euphelle  Allen  he  was  a  "bad,  naughty 
boy;"  but  when  she  said,  "Yes,  I  think  so, 
too,"  I  instantly  cried  out,  "  Well,  I  guess 
he's  gooder'n  your  brother ;  so  !  " 

Euphelle  was  my  bosom  friend.  We  had 
shaken  rattles  together  before  we  were  big 
enough  to  shake  hands.  She  had  beautiful 
brown  eyes,  and  straight,  brown  hair; 
while,  as  for  me,  my  eyes  were  gray,  and 
my  kinky  hair  the  color  of  tow. 

Sister  'Eia  called  Euphelle  "a  nice  little 
girl ; "  while,  owing  to  the  way  my  hair  had 
of  running  wild,  and  the  way  my  frocks  had 
of  tearing,  she  didn't  mind  saying  I  was 
"a  real  romp,"  and  looked  half  the  time 
like  "an  up-and-down  fright." 

As  I  always  believed  exactly  what  peo 
ple  said,  and  couldn't  understand  jokes,  I 
was  rather  unhappy  about  this ;  but  con- 


THE   LADY    CHILD.  25 

eluded  I  had  been  made  for  a  vexation,  like 
flies  and  mosquitos,  and  so  wasn't  to  blame. 

Ruphelle  lived  on  a  hill,  in  the  hand 
somest  house  in  Willowbrook,  with  a  "cu- 
palo"  on  top,  where  you  could  look  off  and 
see  the  whole  town,  with  the  blue  river 
running  right  through  the  middle,  and  cut 
ting  it  in  two. 

Euphelle  had  an  English  father  and  moth 
er.  I  remember  Madam  Allen's  turban, 
how  it  loomed  up  over  her  stately  head 
like  a  great  white  peony.  There  was  a 
saucy  brother  Augustus,  whom  I  never  could 
abide,  and  a  grandpa,  who  always  said 
and  did  such  strange  things  that  I  did  not 
understand  what  it  meant  till  I  grew  older, 
and  learned  that  he  was  afflicted  with  w  soft 
ening  of  the  brain." 

Then  in  the  kitchen  there  was  a  broad- 
shouldered,  ruddy-faced  woman,  named 


26  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Tempy  Ann  Crawford,  whom  I  always  see, 
with  my  mind's  eye,  roasting  coffee  and 
stirring  it  with  a  pudding-stick,  or  rolling 
out  doughnuts,  which  she  called  crullers, 
and  holding  up  a  fried  image,  said  to  be 
a  little  sailor  boy  with  a  tarpaulin  hat 
on,  —  only  his  figure  was  injured  so  much 
by  swelling  in  the  lard  kettle  that  his 
own  mother  wouldn't  have  known  him ; 
still  he  made  very  good  eating. 

There  was  a  little  bound  girl  in  the  fam 
ily,  Ann  Smiley,  who  often  led  me  into 
mischief,  but  always  before  Madam  Allen 
looked  as  demure  as  a  little  gray  kitten. 

Fel  and  I  were  uncommonly  forward 
about  learning  our  letters,  and  wished  very 
much  to  go  to  school  and  finish  our  ed 
ucation  ;  but  were  told  that  the  "  commit 
tee  men"  would  not  let  us  in  till  we 
were  four  years  old.  My  birthday  came 


THE   LADY    CHILD.  27 

the  first  of  May,  and  very  proud  was  I 
when  mother  led  me  up  to  a  lady  vis 
itor,  and  said,  w  My  little  girl  is  four 
years  old  to-day."  I  thought  the  people 
"up  street"  would  ring  bells  and  fire  can 
nons,  but  they  forgot  it.  I  looked  in 
the  glass,  and  could  not  see  the  great 
change  in  my  face  which  I  had  expected. 
I  didn't  look  any  "  diffunt.  "  How  would 
the  teacher  know  I  was  so  old? 

"O,  will  they  let  me  in?"  I  asked. 
"For  always  when  I  go  to  school,  then 
somebody  comes  that's  a  teacher,  and 
tells  me  to  go  home,  and  says  I  musn't 
stay." 

"You  will  have  to  wait  till  the  school 
begins,"  said  my  mother,  "  and  that  is 
all  the  better,  for  then  little  Fel  can  go 
too."  I  was  willing  to  wait,  for  Fel  was 
the  other  half  of  me.  In  three  weeks 


28  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

she  was  as  old  as  I  was,  and  in  the 
rosy  month  of  June  we  began  to  go  to 
the  district  school. 

Your  grandfather  lived  a  little  way  out 
of  town,  and  Squire  Allen  much  farther; 
so  every  morning  Rupbelle  and  her  broth 
er  Augustus  called  for  me,  and  we  girls 
trudged  along  to  school  together,  while 
Gust  followed  like  a  little  dog  with  our 
dinner  baskets.  This  was  one  of  the  great 
est  trials  in  the  whole  world ;  for,  do  you 
see,  he  had  a  pair  of  ears  which  heard 
altogether  too  much,  and  when  we  said 
anything  which  was  not  remarkably  wise, 
he  had  a  habit  of  crying  "  Pooh  !  "  which 
was  very  provoking.  We  went  hand  in 
hand,  Fel  and  I,  and  counted  the  steps 
we  took,  or  hopped  on  one  foot  like 
lame*  ducklings,  and  "that  great  Gust" 
would  look  on  and  laugh.  I  had  so  much 


THE    LADY    CHILD.  29 

to  say  to  Fel  that  I  couldn't  help  talk 
ing,  though  I  knew  he  was  there  to  hear. 

"Fd   like   to   he   a   skurrel  once,"  said  I. 

"O,  pooh!"    said    Gust, 

"I'd  like  to  be  'em  once,  Gust  Allen. 
I'd  like  to  be  'em  long  enough  to  know 
how  they  feel.  Once  there  was  a  boy,  and 
he  was  turned  into  a  skurrel,  and  his 
name  was  Bunny." 

"  That's   a  whopper,    miss  !  " 

Such  were  "  the  tricks  and  the  manners  " 
of  Fel's  disagreeable  brother.  Do  you 
wonder  I  called  him  a  trial?  But  Pel 
didn't  mind  him  much,  for  he  was  good 
to  her,  and  never  laughed  at  her  as  he 
did  at  me.  She  was  "a  lady-child,"  and  her 
disposition  was  much  sweeter  than  mine. 

Mr.  Clifford,  who  was  fitting  for  col 
lege  then,  used  to  pass  us  with  a  book 
under  his  arm  and  pat  our  sun-bonnets, 


30  AUNT  MADGE'S  STOEY. 

and  call  us  "Juno's  swans."  We  had 
never  seen  any  swans,  and  did  not  know 
who  Juno  was,  but  presumed  it  was  some 
old  woman  who  kept  geese  and  hens. 

When  we  reached  the  school-house  we 
were  sure  of  a  good  time,  for  the  teacher 
lent  us  an  old  blunt  penknife,  with  pretty 
red  stones  on  the  back,  the  like  of  which 
was  never  seen  before  in  this  world. 
Nobody  else  ever  asked  for  the  knife  but 
us  two  little  tots,  and  we  went  up  hand 
in  hand ;  and  I  spoke  the  words,  while 
Fel  asked  with  her  eyes.  Miss  Lee  smiled 
blandly,  and  said, — 

"Well,  now,  the  best  one  may  have 
the  knife  a  little  while." 

That  always  happened  to  be  Fel ;  but 
it  was  all  the  same,  for  we  sat  together, 
and  she  let  me  play  with  it  "  more  than 
my  half."  We  were  really  very  forward 


THE    LADY    CHILD.  31 

children,  and  learned  so  fast  that  Miss 
Lee  says  now  she  was  very  proud  of  us. 
I  think  she  was,  for  I  remember  how  she 
showed  us  oft"  before  the  committee  men. 
We  could  soon  read  in  the  Second  Read 
er,  and  Fel  always  cried  about  the  poor 
blind  fiddler  to  whom  Billy  gave  his  cake, 
and  I  poked  her  with  my  elbow  to  make 
her  stop.  For  my  part  I  was  apt  to 
giggle  aloud  when  wTe  came  to  the  story 
of  the  two  silly  cats,  and  the  cheese,  and 
the  monkey. 

Ah,  that  dear  old  school-house,  where 
we  studied  the  "Primary's  Joggerphy,"  and 
saw  by  the  map  that  some  countries  are 
yellow  and  some  fire-red,  and  the  rivers 
no  bigger  than  crooked  knitting-needles ! 
That  queer  old  school-house,  with  the 
hacked-up  benches,  where  we  learned 
"rithumtick"  by  laying  buttered  paper 


32  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

over  the  pictures  in  Emerson's  First  Part, 
and  drawing  blackbirds,  chairs,  and  cher 
ries  all  in  a  row  !  Fel  had  a  long  wood 
en  pencil,  but  poor  I  must  do  with  half 
a  one,  for  'Eia  teased  me  by  making  me 
think  people  would  call  me  selfish  if  I 
had  a  long  pencil  all  to  myself,  while 
my  grown-up  and  much  more  worthy  sis 
ter  went  without  any. 

That  funny  old  school-house,  where  Miss 
Lee  used  to  make  a  looking-glass  of  one 
of  the  window-panes,  by  putting  her  black 
apron  behind  it,  and  peeping  in  to  see  if 
her  hair  was  smooth  when  she  expected 
the  committee  men  !  How  afraid  we  -were 
of  those  committee  men,  and  how  hard 
we  studied  the  fly-leaves  of  our  "jogger- 
phies "  while  they  wrere  there,  feeling  so 
proud  that  wre  knew  more  than  "  that 
great  Gust!" 


THE   LADY   CHILD.  33 

That  dear,  queer,  funny  old  school- 
house  !  No  other  hall  of  learning  will 
ever  seem  like  that  to  me  ! 

Didn't  we  go  at  noon  to  the  spring 
under  the  river  bank  and  "duck "our  lit 
tle  heads,  till  our  mothers  found  it  out 
and  forbade  it?  Didn't  we  squeeze  long- 
legged  grasshoppers,  and  solemnly  repeat 
the  couplet :  — 

"Grass'per,   grass'per  Gray, 
Give   me   some   m'lasses, 
And   then   fly   away.'* 

Didn't   we   fling    flat    pebbles  in  the  river 
to   the   tune    of 

"One   to   make   ready, 

Two   to   prepare, 
Three    to    go    slap-dash, 
Right  —  in  —  there  "  ? 

And   how    we    enjoyed   our   dinners   un 
der  the   spreading  oil-nut  tree,  chatting  as 
3 


34  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

we  ate,  and  deciding  every  day  anew 
that  Tempy  Ann  made  the  nicest  sage 
cheese  in  the  world,  and  our  Ruthie  the 
best  turnovers. 

Sometimes  at  night  father  took  me  on 
his  lap,  and  asked, — 

"Do    you    whisper   any    at    school?" 

I   turned   away   my   face   and   answered, 

"  Pel    whispers    orfly" 

"Well,    does   Totty-wax   whisper   too?" 

I  dropped  my  head,  and  put  my  fing 
ers  in  my  mouth. 

"Some"  said  I,  in  a  low  voice.  For  I 
began  to  have  a  dim  idea  that  it  was  not 
proper  to  tell  a  lie. 

When  Pel  and  I  had  any  little  trouble, 
—  which  was  not  often,  for  Fel  generally 
gave  up  like  a  darling,  —  Maria  was  al 
ways  sure  to  decide  that  Fel  was  in  the 
right.  Fel  thought  'Rla  a  remarkable 


THE    LADY    CHILD.  35 

young  woman ;  but  I  told  her  privately, 
in  some  of  our  long  chats  at  school,  that 
older  sisters  were  not  such  blessings  as 
one  might  suppose.  So  far  as  I  knew 
anything  about  them,  they  enjoyed  scrub 
bing  your  face  and  neck  the  wrong  way 
with  a  rough  towel,  and  making  you  cry. 
And  they  had  such  poor  memories,  older 
sisters  had.  They  could  never  call  up  the 
faintest  recollection  of  a  fairy  story  when 
you  asked  for  one.  They  were  also  very 
much  opposed  to  your  standing  in  a  chair 
by  the  sink  to  wipe  dishes. 

Now  Tempy  Ann  allowed  Fel  to  wipe 
dishes,  and  pat  out  little  pies  on  the 
cake-board,  and  bake  doll's  cakes.  She 
was  such  a  strong,  large  woman  too,  she 
could  hold  Fel  and  me  at  the  same  time ; 
and  after  we  were  undressed,  and  had  our 


36  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

nighties  on,  she  loved  to    rock   us   in  the 
old   kitchen   chair,  and   chat   with   us. 

We  were  .confidential  sometimes  with 
Tempy  Ann,  —  or  I  was,  —  and  told  her 
of  our  plan  of  going  to  Italy  to  give 
.concerts  when  we  grew  up.  I  never  saw 
but  one  fault  in  Tempy  Ann ;  she  wrould 
laugh  over  our  solemn  secrets,  and  would 
repeat  the  hateful  ditty,  — 

"  Row  the  boat,  row  the  boat,  where  shall  it  stand  ? 
Up  to  Mr.Parlin's  door ;   there's  dry  land. 
Who  comes  here,  so  skip  and  so  skan  ? 
Mr.  Gustus  Allen,  a  very  likely  young  man. 
He  steps  to  the  door,  and  knocks  at  the  ring, 

And  says,  '  Mrs.  Parlin,  is  Miss  Maggie  within?'" 

*?~ 

Fel  and  I  were  both  shocked  -at  the 
bare  hint  of  such  a  thing  as  my  marrying 
Gust.  We  didn't  intend  to  have  any 
great  boys  about.  If  Gust  should  want 
to  marry  me,  and  ride  in  our  gilt-edged 
concert-coach,  with  four  white  horses,  I 


THE   LADY   CHILD.  37 

guessed  he'd  find  he  wasn't  wanted.     I  should 
say   "No,"  just   as   quick! 

The  more  earnest  I  grew  the  more 
Tempy  Ann  shook  with  laughing;  and  I 
had  some  reason  to  suspect  she  went  and 
told  Madam  Allen  my  objections  to  mar 
rying  her  son,  which  I  thought  was  most 
unfair  of  Tempy  Ann. 


38  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BLUE    PARASOL. 

As  I  look  back  upon  those  make-believe 
days,  naughty  recollections  spring  up  as 
fast  as  dust  in  August. 

Ruphelle  seems  to  me  like  a  little  white 
lily  of  the  valley,  all  pure  and  sweet,  but 
I  was  no  more  fit  to  be  with  her  than  a 
prickly  thistle.  I  loved  dearly  to  tease 
her.  Once  she  had  some  bronze  shoes, 
and  I  wanted  some  too,  but  there  were 
none  to  be  had  in  town,  and  to  console 
myself,  I  said  to  dear  little  Fel,  "I'd 
twice  rather  have  black  shoes,  bronzes 


THE    BLUE    PARASOL.  39 

look  so  rusty ;  O,  my  !  If  I  couldn't  have 
black  shoes  I'd  go  barefoot." 

Fel  did  not  wish  me  to  see  how  ashamed 
this  made  her  feel,  but  I  could  not  help 
noticing  afterwards  that  she  never  wore  the 
bronze  shoes  to  church. 

I  pined  and  fretted  because  I  could  not 
have  nice  things  like  her.  She  had  a  coral 
necklace,  and  a  blue  silk  bonnet,  and  a 
white  dress,  with  flowers  worked  all  over 
it  with  a  needle.  Did  my  best  dress  have 
flowers  worked  over  it  with  a  needle  ?  I 
should  think  not.  And  I  hadn't  a  speck 
of  a  necklace,  nor  any  bonnet  but  just 
straw.  I  did  not  know  that  Squire  Allen 
was  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in  the  state, 
and  "could  afford  beautiful  things  for  his 
little  daughter,  while  my  father  was  poor, 
or  at  least  not  rich,  and  my  mother  had 
to  puzzle  her  brains  a  good  deal  to  contrive 


40  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

to  keep  her  little  romping,  heedless,  try- 
patience  of  a  daughter  looking  respec 
table. 

Once,  when  I  was  about  six  years  old, 
I  did  a  very  naughty  thing.  Why,  Fly, 
what  makes  your  eyes  shine  so?  Can  it 
be  you  like  to  hear  naughty  stories? 
Queer,  isn't  it?  Ah,  but  this  story  makes 
me  ashamed,  even  now  that  I  am  a  grown 
up  woman.  Wait  a  minute ;  I  must  go 
back  a  little ;  it  was  the  parasol  that  be 
gan  it. 

When  Fel  and  I  were  going  home 
from  school  one  night,  we  stopped  to  take 
some  of  our  make-believe  slides.  Not  far 
from  our  house,  near  the  river-bank, 
were  two  sloping  mounds,  between  which 
a  brook  had  once  run.  These  little  mounds 
were  soft  and  green,  and  dotted  with 
white  innocence  flowers ;  and  what  fun  it  was 


THE   BLUE    PARASOL.  41 

to  start  at  the  top  of  one  of  them,  and 
roll  over  and  over,  down  into  the  valley. 
Somehow,  Fel,  being  a  lady-child,  never 
stained  her  cape  bonnet,  while  mine  was 
all  streaks ;  and  she  never  tore  her  skirts 
off  the  waist;  but  what  if  I  did  tear  mine? 
They  always  grew  together  again,  I  never 
stopped  to  think  how. 

This  time,  as  we  were  having  a  jolly 
roll,  Madam  Allen  rode  along  in  the 
carryall,  with  Tempy  Ann  driving. 

"  Stop,  and  let  us  see  what  those  chil 
dren  are  doing,"  said  she  ;  and  Tempy  Ann 
stopped. 

Fel  and  I  danced  upon  our  feet,  and 
started  to  run  to  the  carryall,  but  of  course 
I  tumbled  down  before  I  got  there.  While 
I  was  picking  my  foot  out  of  the  hole  in 
my  frock,  I  heard  Fel  exclaim,  joyfully, 


42  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"O,  mamma,  is  it  for  me?  What  a 
beauty,  beauty,  beauty  !  " 

"Yes,  dear,  I  bought  it  for  you,  but 
if  you  are  going  to  be  a  gypsy  child,  I 
suppose  you  won't  want  it." 

I  looked  and  saw  the  cunningest  little 
sunshade,  with  its  head  tipped  on  one  side, 
like  a  great  blue  morning  glory.  Never 
again  shall  I  behold  anything  so  beautiful. 
Queen  Victoria's  crown  and  Empress  Eu 
genie's  diamonds  wouldn't  compare  with  it 
for  a  moment.  They  say  we  feel  most 
keenly  those  joys  we  never  quite  grasp ; 
and  I  know  that  parasol,  swinging  round 
in  Fel's  little  hand,  was  more  bewitching 
to  me  than  if  I  had  held  it  myself.  O, 
why  wasn't  it  mine?  I  thought  of  Fel's 
coral  necklace,  and  blue  silk  bonnet,  and 
the  white  dress  with  needlework  flowers, 
and  now  if  she  was  going  to  have  a 


THE   BLUE   PARASOL.  43 

parasol  too,  I  might  as  well  die  and  done 
with  it. 

66  O,  Marjie,  Marjie  ! "  cried  she,  dan 
cing  up  to  me  with  her  sweet  little  face 
in  a  glow,  "  do  you  see  what  I've 
got?" 

I  never  answered.  I  just  lay  there  and 
kicked  dirt  with  my  shoe.  The  carryall 
was  in  front  of  us,  and  Madam  Allen 
could  not  see  how  I  behaved. 

"Come,  little  daughter,"  called  she, 
"jump  in  and  ride  home." 

But  Fel  thought  she  would  rather  walk 
with  me,  for  I  hadn't  noticed  her  parasol 
yet.  So  her  mother  drove  off. 

"  Isn't  it  a  teenty  tonty  beauty  ?  "  cried 
she,  waving  it  before  me. 

I  shut  my  teeth  together  and  kicked. 

"You  haven't  looked,  Marjie;  see  what 
a  teenty  tonty  beauty ! " 


44  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

She  never  could  quite  enjoy  her  pretty 
things  till  I  had  praised  them.  I  knew 
that,  and  took  a  wicked  pleasure  in  hold 
ing  my  tongue. 

"Why,  Marjie,"  said  she,  in  a  grieved 
tone,  "why  don't  you  look?  It's  the 
teenty  tontiest  beauty  ever  you  saw." 

"  There,  that's  the  threeth  time  you've 
said  so,  Fel  Allen." 

"Well,  it's  the  truly  truth,  Madge 
Parlin." 

"No,  it  isn't  neither;  and  you're  a  little 
lie-girl,"  snapped  I. 

This  was  an  absurd  speech,  and  I  did 
not  mean  a  word  of  it,  for  I  doubt  if  Fel 
had  ever  told  a  wrong  story  in  her  life. 
"  You're  a  little  lie-girl.  Got  a  parasol, 
too!" 

She  only  looked  sorry  to  see  me  so 
cross.  She  couldn't  be  very  unhappy, 


THE   BLUE   PARASOL.  45 

standing  there  stroking  those  soft  silk  tas 
sels. 

"I  hope  your  mamma '11  give  you  one, 
too,"  murmured  the  dear  little  soul. 

I  sprang  up  at  that. 

"O,  do  you  s'pose  she  would?"I  cried; 
and  by  the  time  I  had  taken  another  roll 
down  the  bank  my  spirits  rose  wonderfully, 
and  I  let  her  put  the  parasol  in  my  hand, 
even  exclaiming,  — 

"No,  I  never  did  see  anything  so  nice!" 
But  I  secretly  hoped  my  own  would  be 
nicer  still. 

"Come  home  to  my  house,"  said  I, 
"  and  ask  my  mamma  if  I  can  have  a  para 
sol  too." 

We  were  very  near  the  house,  and  she 
went  in  with  me.  Mother  was  in  the 
kitchen,  stewing  apple-sauce  for  supper. 
I  remember  what  a  tired  look  she  had 


46  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

on  her  face,  and  how  wearily  she  stirred 
the  apple-sauce,  which  was  bubbling  in 
the  porcelain  kettle. 

"You  speak  now,"  whispered  I  to  Fel. 
"You  speak  first." 

This  was  asking  a  great  deal  of  the  dear 
little  friend  I  had  just  called  a  lie-girl. 
If  she  hadn't  loved  me  better,  much  bet 
ter  than  I  deserved,  she  would  have  turned 
and  run  away.  As  it  was,  she  called  up 
all  her  courage,  the  timid  little  thing,  and 
fluttering  up  to  my  mother,  gently  poked 
the  end  of  the  parasol  into  the  bow  of 
her  black  silk  apron. 

"Please,  O,  please,  Mrs.  Parlin,  do 
look  and  see  how  pretty  it  is." 

That  was  as  far  as  she  could  get  for 
some  time,  till  mother  smiled  and  kissed 
her,  and  asked  once  or  twice,  "  Well,  dear, 
what  is  it?" 


THE   BLUE    PARASOL.  47 

I  ran  into  the   shed  and  back  again,  too 

& 

excited  to  stand  still.  Mother  was  al 
ways  so  tender  of  Fel,  that  I  did  think 
she  couldn't  refuse  her.  I  was  sure,  at 
any  rate,  she  would  say  as  much  as,  "We 
will  see  about  it,  dear ; "  but  instead  of 
that  she  gave  her  an  extra  hug,  and  an 
swered  sorrowfully,  — 

"  I  wish  I  could  buy  Margaret  a  para 
sol  ;  but  really  it  is  not  to  be  thought 
of." 

I  dropped  into  the  chip-basket,  and 
cried. 

w  If  she  knew  how  to  take  care  of  her 
things  perhaps  I  might,  but  it  is  wicked 
to  throw  away  money.'' 

w  O,  mamma,  did  you  s'pose  I'd  let  it 
fall  in  the  hoss  troth?"  screamed  I,  remem 
bering  the  fate  of  my  last  week's  hat, 
with  the  green  vine  round  it.  "  If  you'll 


48  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

only  give  me  a  pairsol,  mamma,  I  won't 
never  carry  it  out  to  the  barn,  nor  down  to 
the  river,  nor  anywhere  'n  this  world.  I'll 
keep  it  in  your  bandbox,  right  side  o'  your 
bonnet,  where  there  don't  any  mice  come, 
or  any  flies,  and  never  touch  it,  nor  ask  to 
see  it,  nor  —  " 

"There,  that'll  do,"  said  mother,  stopping 
me  at  full  tide.  "I  would  be  glad  to  please 
my  little  girl  if  I  thought  it  would  be 
right;  but  I  have  said  No  once,  and  after 
that,  Margaret,  you  know  how  foolish  it  is 
to  tease." 

Didn't  I  know,  to  my  sorrow  ?  As  fool 
ish  as  it  would  be  to  stand  and  fire  pop 
guns  at  the  rock  of  Gibraltar. 

I  rushed  out  to  the  barn,  and  never  stopped 
to  look  behind  me.  Fel  followed,  crying 
softly ;  but  what  had  I  to  say  to  that  dear 


THE   BLUE    PARASOL.  49 

little  friend,  who  felt  my  sorrows  almost  as 
if  they  were  her  own? 

"You  didn't  ask  my  mamma  pretty,  and 
that's  why  she  wouldn't  give  me  no  pair- 
sol." 

No  thanks  for  the  kind  office  she  had 
performed  for  me ;  no  apology  for  calling 
her  a  lie-girl.  Only,  — 

"You  didn't  ask  my  mamma  pretty,  Fel 
Allen." 

She  choked  down  one  little  sob  that  ought 
to  have  broken  my  heart,  and  turned  and 
went  away.  You  wonder  she  should  have 
loved  me.  I  suppose  I  had  "good  fits;" 
they  say  I  wras  honey-sweet  sometimes  ;  but 
as  I  recall  my  little  days,  it  does  seem  to 
me  as  if  I  was  always,  always  snubbing  that 
precious  child.  When  she  was  out  of  sight, 
I  dived  head  first  into  the  hay,  and  tried 

for  as   much   as    ten   minutes   to   hate  my 
A 


50  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

mother.  After  a  long  season  of  sulks,  such 
as  it  is  to  be  hoped  none  of  you  ever  in 
dulged  in,  I  stole  back  to  the  house  through 
the  shed,  and  Kuth,  who  did  not  know  what 
had  broken  my  heart,  exclaimed,  — 

"Why,  Maggie,  what  ails  you?  You've 
fairly  cried  your  eyes  out,  child  ! " 

I  climbed  a  chair,  and  looked  in  the  glass, 
which  hung  between  the  kitchen  windows, 
and  sure  enough  I  was  a  sight  to  behold. 
My  eyes,  always  very  large,  were  now  red 
and  swollen,  and  seemed  bursting  from 
their  sockets.  I  had  never  thought  before 
that  eyes  could  burst;  but  now  I  ran  to 
Euthie  in  alarm. 

"I  have  cried  my  eyes  out!  O,  Kuthie, 
I've  started  'em  !  " 

She  laughed  at  my  distress,  kissed  me, 
and  set  me  at  ease  about  my  eyeballs ;  but 
the  parasol  was  denied  me,  and  I  was  sure 


THE    BLUE    PARASOL.  51 

that,  blind  or  not,  I  could  never  be  happy 
without  it. 

The  little  bits  of  girls  had  afternoon  par 
ties  that  summer ;  it  was  quite  the  fashion ; 
and  not  long  after  this  Madam  Allen  made 
one  for  Fel.  Everybody  said  it  was  the 
nicest  party  we  had  had ;  for  Tempy  Ann 
made  sailor-boy  doughnuts,  with  sugar 
sprinkled  on,  and  damson  tarts,  and  lemon 
ade,  to  say  nothing  of  "saudiges,"  with 
chicken  in  the  middle.  I  loved  Fel  dearly, 
I  know  I  did ;  but  by  fits  and  starts  I  was 
so  full  of  envy  that  I  had  to  go  off  by  my 
self  and  pout. 

"A  party  and  a  pairsol  the  same  year! 
And  Fel  never  'spected  the  pairsol,  and 
didn't  ask  real  hard  for  the  party.  But 
that  was  always  the  way ;  her  mamma 
wanted  her  to  have  good  times,  and  so  did 


52  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Tempy  Ann.  Some  folks'  mammas  didn't 
care  ! " 

I  was  willing  nice  things  should  fall  to 
Fel's  lot;  but  I  wanted  just  as  nice  ones 
myself. 

Fel  showed  the  girls  her  "pairsol,"  and 
they  all  said  they  meant  to  have  one  too ; 
all  but  me ;  I  could  only  stand  and  look  on, 
with  my  eyeballs  just  ready  to  pop  out  of 
my  head. 

I  remember  what  sick  dolls  we  had  that 
afternoon;  and  when  any  of  them  died,  the 
live  dolls  followed  them  to  the  grave  with 
weeping  and  wailing,  and  their  wee  hand 
kerchiefs  so  full  of  grief  that  you  could 
trace  the  procession  by  the  tears  that 
dripped  upon  the  carpet.  Yes ;  but  the 
mourners  all  had  the  cunningest  little  "pair- 
sols  "  of  nasturtium  leaves.  There  wasn't  a 
"single  one  doll"  that  marched  without  a 


THE   BLUE   PARASOL.  53 

pairsol,  not  even  my  Rosy  Posy ;  for  I  had 
a  motherly  heart,  and  couldn't  mortify  my 
child  !  She  should  have  "  sumpin  to  keep 
the  sun  off,"  if  it  cost  the  last  cent  her 
mamma  had  in  the  world ! 

I  had  a  dismal  fit  just  before  supper,  and 
went  into  Grandpa  Harrington's  room,  back 
of  the  parlor.  He  was  always  fond  of  little 
folks,  but  very  queer,  as  I  have  told  you. 
He  had  a  fire  in  the  fireplace,  and  was  sit 
ting  before  it,  though  it  was  summer.  He 
looked  up  when  I  went  in,  and  said,  "  How 
do,  darling?  My  feet  are  as  cold  as  a  dead 
lamb's  tongue ;  does  your  father  keep 
sheep?" 

Next  minute  he  .said,  — 

"My  feet  are  as  cold  as  a  dog's  nose; 
does  your  father  keep  a  dog?" 

That  was  the  way  he  rambled  on  from 
one  thing  to  another.  But  when  he  saw  I 


54  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

was  low-spirited,  and  found  by  questioning 
me  -that  I  needed  a  parasol,  and  couldn't 
live  long  without  one,  he  took  me  on  his 
knee,  and  said  kindly, — 

"Never  mind  it,  Pet;  you  shall  have  a 
parasol.  I  will  give  you  one." 

I  could  hardly  speak  for  joy.  I  did  not 
feel  ashamed  of  myself  till  afterwards,  for 
Grandpa  Harrington  did  not  seem  like  other 
people,  and  I  saw  no  harm  in  whining  to 
him  about  my  troubles. 


LIZE   JANE.  55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LIZE   JANE. 

BUT  my  happiness  did  not  last  long. 
Grandpa  Harrington  never  thought  of  my 
parasol  again  from  that  day  to  the  day  he 
died;  and  little  witch  and  try-patience 
though  I  was,  I  dared  not  remind  him  of  his 
promise,  still  less  tell  my  mother  about  it. 

It  was  hard  to  have  my  hopes  raised  so 
high,  only  to  be  dashed  to  the  ground ; 
harder  still  to  have  to  keep  it  all  to  my 
self,  and  see  Fel  trip  along  under  that  sun 
shade  without  a  care  in  the  world.  If  she 
had  been  the  least  bit  proud  I  couldn't 
have  borne  it ;  but  even  as  it  was,  it  wore 


56  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

upon  me.  Once  I  called  out  in  severe 
tones,  "  Ho,  little  lie-girl ;  got  a  pairsol 
too  ! "  but  was  so  ashamed  of  it  next  minute 
that  I  ran  up  to  her  and  hugged  her  right  in 
the  street,  and  said,  "I  didn't  mean  the 
leastest  thing.  I  love  you  jus'  the  same, 
if  you  have  got  a  blue  pairsol,  and  you  may 
wear  it  to  meetin',  and  I'll  try  not  to 
care." 

And  now  I  come  to  the  naughty  story. 

I  could  not  always  have  Fel  for  a  play 
mate  ;  she  was  too  delicate  to  be  racing 
about  from  morning  till  night  as  I  did,  and 
when  she  had  to  stay  in  the  house,  I  found 
other  girls  to  romp  with  me.  Sometimes, 
especially  if  I  felt  rather  wicked,  I  enjoyed 
Eliza  Jane  Bean,  a  girl  two  or  three  years 
older  than  myself.  There  was  a  bad  fascina 
tion  about  "Lize."  When  she  fixed  her  big 
black  eyes  upon  you,  she  made  you  think 


LIZE   JANE.  57 

of  all  sorts  of  delightful  things  you  wanted 
to  do,  only  they  were  strictly  forbidden. 
Her  father  and  mother  were  not  very  good 
people,  and  did  not  go  to  church  Sundays. 
They  lived  in  a  low  red  house  near  the 
Gordons.  You  never  saw  it,  children ;  it 
was  pulled  down  ever  so  long  ago,  and  used 
for  kindlings.  People  called  the  house  "the 
Bean  Pod,"  because  there  were  nine  little 
beans  in  it  beside  the  big  ones.  Eattlety 
bang  !  Harum  scarum  !  There  wras  always 
a  great  noise  in  that  house,  and  people 
called  it  "  the  rattling  of  the  beans."  It  was 
well  it  stood  on  a  corner  lot,  and  poor  old 
Mr.  Gordon  was  so  deaf. 

Lize  Jane  used  to  come  to  our  house  for 
currants.  My  mamma  did  not  like  to  have 
me  see  much  of  her,  but  could  not  refuse 
the  currants,  for  our  bushes  were  loaded. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  family  must  have  lived 


58  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

half  the  summer  on  currants  and  molasses ; 
for  almost  every  night  there  was  Lize  Jane 
with  her  big  tin  pail.  It  had  holes  in  the 
bottom,  and  the  juice  used  to  run  out  some 
times  upon  her  dress ;  but  it  didn't  make 
much  difference,  for  her  dress  was  never 
clean. 

One  night  she  came  for  currants  when 
they  were  almost  gone.  Mother  had  been 
sick,  and  was  very  late  about  making  jelly. 
She  told  Eliza  Jane  she  couldn't  let  her 
come  any  more  after  that  night ;  the  rest 
of  the  fruit  must  be  "saved  for  our  own  use. 
Lize  Jane  said  nothing,  but  she  rolled  her 
black  eyes  round  towards  me,  and  I  felt  a 
little  ashamed,  for  I  knew  she  thought 
mother  was  stingy,  and  that  was  why  she 
rolled  her  eyes. 

I  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  said  to 
Ruth,  — 


LIZE   JANE.  59 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  pick  you  a 
bowl  of  currants." 

Of  course  she  did.  She  didn't  know 
Lize  Jane  was  there,  or  she  wouldn't  have 
been  so  pleased  and  so  ready  to  get  me 
iny  sun-bonnet.  She  had  to  reach  it  down 
from  a  hook  in  the  ceiling.  That  was  the 
place  where  Ned  hung  it  when  he  wanted 
to  "pester"  me;  he  did  it  with  an  old 
rake  handle. 

When  I  was  going  anywhere  to  meet 
Lize  Jane,  I  always  felt  as  if  I  was  steal 
ing  raisins.  I  never  exactly  stole  raisins ; 
but  when  my  mother  said  I  might  go  to 
the  box  and  get  two  or  three,  I  had  some 
times  taken  a  whole  handful.  I  knew  by 
the  .  pricking  of  my  conscience  that  that 
was  wrong,  and  in  the  same  way  I  knew 
that  this  was  wrong  too.  Mother  was  in  the 
green  chamber,  covering  an  ottoman  with 


60  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

green  carpeting,  so  she  wouldn't  see  me  from 
that  side  of  the  house. 

I  ran  into  the  garden,  and,  going  up 
close  to  Lize  Jane,  began  to  pick  with  all 
my  might.  "My  bowl  fills  up  faster  'n 
your  pail,"  said  I.  "  Cause  its  littler,"  said 
she  ;  "  and  besides,  I'm  picking  'em  off  the 
stems." 

"What  do  you  do  that  for,  Lize  Jane? 
It  takes  so  long." 

"  I  know  it ;  it  takes  foreverlastin' ;  but 
mother  told  me  to,  so'st  I  could  get  more 
into  my  pail." 

I  opened  my  eyes. 

"  She  told  me  to  get  my  pail  chuck  full. 
She  didn't  use  to  care,  but  now  the  cur 
rants  are  most  gone,  and  she  wants  all 
she  can  get." 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  remember  I  thought 


LIZE   JANE.  61 

Mrs,  Bean  was  a  queer  woman,  to  want 
our  very  last  currants. 

"Sh'an't  you  have  your  party  before 
they're  all  gone?"  said  Lize  Jane. 

"What  party?" 

"  Why,  the  one  you're  going  to  have." 

I  suppose  she  knew  my  heart  was  aching 
for  one. 

"I  want  a  party  dreffully,"  said  I,  "but 
mamma  won't  let  me." 

"Won't  let  you?"  cried  Lize  Jane,  in 
surprise.  "Why,  Fel  Allen  had  hers  last 
week." 

"I  know  it,  and  Tempy  Ann  made  us 
some  lemonade." 

"Did  she?  I  wish  I'd  been  there,"  said 
Lize,  pursing  her  lips.  "But  Fel  lives 
in  such  a  monstrous  nice  house,  and 
wouldn't  ask  me  to  her  party ;  that's  why. 
Mother  says  I  hadn't  oughter  care,  though, 


62  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

for  when  she  dies  she'll  lay  as  low  as 
me." 

I  did  not  understand  this  speech  of  Mrs. 
Bean's,  which  Lize  Jane  repeated  with  such 
a  solemn  snap  of  her  black  eyes ;  but  it 
came  to  me  years  afterwards,  and  I  think 
it  the  worst  teaching  a  mother  could  give 
her  little  child.  No  wonder  Lize  Jane 
wras  full  of  envy  and  spite. 

"  But  you'll  ask  me  to  your  party,  won't 
you?"  said  she,  with  a  coaxing  smile. 

"I  can't,  if  I  don't  have  one,  Lize 
Jane." 

"You're  a-makin'  believe,  Mag  Parlin. 
You  will  have  one ;  how  can  you  help  it, 
with  a  garden  full  of  gooseb'ries  and 
rubub?" 

fe  And  thimbleberries,  too,"  added  I,  sur 
veying  the  premises  with  a  gloomy  eye. 
We  certainly  had  enough  to  eat,  and  it 


LIZE   JANE.  63 

was  a  very  strange  thing  that  I  couldn't 
give  a  party. 

"Has  your  mother  got  any  cake  in  the 
house?"  added  Lize. 

"Yes,  lots  in  the  tin  chest;  but  she 
never  lets  me  eat  a  speck,  hardly,"  be 
moaned  I.  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  talk 
ing  to  Lize  Jane  of  family  matters ;  but 
she  had  shown  so  much  good  sense  in 
saying  I  ought  to  have  a  party,  that  my 
heart  was  touched. 

"Your  mother,  sediis  to  me,  she  never 
lets  you  do  a  thing,"  returned  Lize  Jane, 
in  a  pitying  tone.  "Ain't  you  goin'  to 
have  a  silk  pairsol,  like  Fel  Allen's?  I 
should  think  you  might." 

She  had  driven  the  nail  straight  to  the 
mark  that  time.  I  could  have  wailed  ;  but 
was  I  going  to  have  Lize  Jane  go  home 


64  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

and  tell  that  I  was  a  baby  ?  No !  and  I 
spoke  up  very  pertly, — 

"  Where's  your  pairsol,  Lize  Jane  Bean  ? 
You  never  had  one  any  raore'n  me." 

"  No ;  but  there's  something  I  have  got, 
though,  better  than  that.  Good  to  eat, 
too.  And  I'll  tell  you  what;  if  you'll 
ask  me  to  your  party,  I'll  bring  you  some 
in  a  covered  dish." 

"What  is   it,  Lize?     Ice  cream?" 

For  her  face   was  wondrous  sweet. 

"Ice  cream!  How'd  you  s'pose  I  kep* 
that  froze  ?  No !  "  and  the  bewitching 
sparkle  of  her  eye  called  up  luscious  ideas. 
I  could  almost  see  apricot  preserves,  pine 
apples,  and  honey-heart  cherries  floating 
in  the  air.  But  why  was  it  a  covered  dish? 
"Somethin'  nuff  sight  better 'n  ice  cream, 
but  I  shan't  tell  what." 

WO,  I  wish  you'd  bring  it  to  me  in  the 


LIZE    JANE.  65 

covered  dish,  'thout  any  party,  for  my 
mother  won't  let  me  have  one,  Lize,  now 
truly." 

"Then  you  can't  have  the  —  what  I  was 
goin'  to  bring,"  said  Lize  Jane,  firmly. 

"That's  too  bad,"  I  cried;  but  it  was 
of  no  use  talking;  she  couldn't  be  moved 
any  more  than  the  gravel  walk,  or  the 
asparagus  bed. 

"Your  mother  ain't  much  sick,  is  she?" 

"Not  now,"  replied  I;  "her  strength  is 
better." 

"Well,  then,  why  don't  you  ask  some 
girls  to  come,  and  she'll  get  'em  some 
supper;  see  if  she  don't." 

I  was  so  shocked  that  I  almost  fell  into 
a  currant  bush. 

"Lize  Jane  Bean,  what  you  talking 
about?" 

5 


66  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Why,  you  said  your  mother  warn't 
sick." 

"  No,  her  strength  is  better,  but  she 
don't  'low  me  to  do  things,  Lize  Jane 
Bean,  'thout  — 'thout  she  lets  me." 

"Of  course  not;  but  I  guess  she  don't 
know  you  want  a  party  so  dreadful  bad, 
Maggie,  or  she  would  let  you.  I  don't 
believe  your  mother  is  ugly." 

"But  she  never  said  I  might  have  a 
party,  though." 

"No,  for  she  don't  think  about  it.  She 
ain't  a  bad  woman,  your  mother  ain't,  only 
she  don't  think.  Your  mother  don't  mean 
to  be  ugly." 

Lize  Jane  spoke  in  a  large-hearted  way, 
at  the  same  time  stripping  currant-stems 
very  industriously.  "  She'd  feel  glad  af 
terwards,  s'posing  you  did  have  a  party, 
I'll  bet." 


LIZE    JANE.  67 

"  O,  Lize  Jane,  what  a  girl !  's  if  I'd 
do  it  'thout  my  mother  said  I  might." 

"  O,  I  didn't  mean  a  real  big  party ; 
did  you  s'pose  I  did?  I  didn't  know  but 
you  could  ask  me  and  some  of  the  girls 
to  supper,  and  not  call  it  a  party.  We'd 
play  ou'  doors." 

"  O,  I  didn't  know  that's  what  you 
meant.  But  I  can't,  —  'cause,  —  'cause." — • 

"Well,  you  needn't,  if  you  don't  want 
to ;  but  I  didn't  know  but  you'd  like  to 
see  that  —  what  I's  going  to  bring." 

"  But  I  can't  be  naughty,  and  get  tied 
to  the  bed-post,"  said  I,  thoughtfully.  "Is 
that  what  you's  going  to  bring,  something 
I  never  saw  in  all  my  life,  Lize  Jane?" 

"Yes,   I'm  certain  sure  you  never." 

And  she  made  up  another  delicious  face, 
that  filled  the  air  around  with  sweet 
visions. 


68  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

fe  And  would  you  bring  it  if  I  didn't 
ask  but  —  but  —  two  girls  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  could,"  replied 
Lize  Jane,  squinting  her  eyes  in  deep  med 
itation.  I  don't  hardly  think  I  could}  but 
if  you  had  four  girls  I'd  bring  it,  and  risk 
it." 

"Four  'thout  you?" 

"No,  me'n  three  more,  if  you're  so  dread 
ful  scared." 

That  settled  the  matter.  With  my  usual 
rashness  I  cried  out,  — 

«  Well,  I'll  ask  'em." 


THE   PARTY.  69 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    PARTY. 

I  WENT  to  bed  that  night  in  great  ex 
citement,  and  I  dare  say  did  not  get  to  sleep 
for  ten  minutes  or  so.  What  strange  thing 
was  this  I  was  about  to  do  ? 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  it's  only  four  girls,  that's 
all.  I  know  my  mamma  'd  be  glad  to 
have  me  have  'em,  but  I  don't  dare  ask 
her ;  so  I'll  have  ?em  'tliout  asking.  She 
says  she  wants  her  little  daughter  to  be 
happy.  That's  what  she  says  ;  but  she  don't 
give  me  no  pairsol.  How'd  she  'spect  I's 
goin'  to  be  happy?  But  I  could  be  some 
happy  if  I  had  four  girls,  —  not  a  party, 
but  four  girls." 


70  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

The  next  clay  was  Saturday,  the  day  I 
had  agreed  upon  with  Lize  Jane.  I  chewed 
my  bonnet-strings  all  the  way  to  school, 
and  never  invited  Fel  till  we  got  into  the 
entry.  At  recess  I  asked  Abby  Gray  and 
Dunie  Foster;  that  made  up  the  four  girls. 
But  when  school  was  out,  I  happened  to 
think  I  might  as  well  have  a  few  more,  and 
singled  out  Sallie  Gordon,  Mary  Vance,  and 
Anna  Carey ;  but  Phebe  Grant  was  stand 
ing  close  by,  and  I  knew  she  would  be 
"mad"  if  I  didn't  ask  her;  and  after  that 
I  flew  about  and  dropped  invitations  right 
and  left,  till  I  entirely  forgot  that  I  was 
doing  it  without  leave.  "I  want  you  to 
coine  to  my  house,  to  my  party,  to-morrow 
afternoon,"  —  began  to  sound  perfectly 
proper. 

Instead  of  speaking  twice  before  I  thought, 
I  spoke  thirty  or  forty  times.  I  didn't  slight 


THE    PARTY.  71 

anybody.  I  asked  all  the  First  and  Second 
Reader  classes,  and  the  little  specks  of  girls 
in  ABC.  They  all  looked  very  much 
pleased.  Some  of  them  had  never  been  in 
vited  to  a  party  before,  and  didn't  know 
enough  to  find  the  way  to  "  my  house  ;  "  but 
I  thought,  while  I  was  about  it,  I  might  as 
well  make  a  clean  sweep  :  it  was  no  wick 
eder  to  have  a  big  party  than  a  little  one. 
I  was  sorry  enough  that  boys  were  not  in 
fashion,  for  I  wanted  a  few.  There  was 
Tommy  Gordon  in  particular,  who  always 
had  his  pockets  full  of  "lickerish"  and  pep- 
'mints ;  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to 
help  asking  him.  As  for  Gust  Allen,  I 
would  as  soon  have  had  a  wild  monkey, 
and  that  is  the  truth. 

I  trudged  home  at  noon,  with  my  eyes 
looking  strange,  I  know.  I  had  done  my 
speaking,  and  now  I  began  to  think.  It 


72  AUKT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

came  over  me  like  a  little  whirlwind.  I 
realized  for  the  first  time  what  I  had  done. 

Ruth  was  hurrying  up  the  dinner. 

"Don't  come  near  me,  child,"  said  she. 
"I've  got  my  hands  full." 

I  went  into  the  sitting-room.  There  was 
mother  on  the  sofa,  bathing  her  head  with 
cologne.  It  didn't  seem  much  like  having 
a  party !  She  could  eat  no  dinner,  and 
father  said  she  looked  as  if  she  ought  to 
be  in  bed. 

"I  feel  almost  sick  enough  to  be  in  bed," 
said  she ;  "  but  I  must  help  Mrs.  Duffy  put 
down  that  parlor  carpet.  I  have  waited 
for  her  ever  since  the  carpet  was  made,  and 
this  was  the  very  first  day  she  could  come." 

«O,  dear,"  thought  I,  "where'll  I  have 
my  party?" 

"Can't  Mrs.  Duffy  put  the  carpet  down 
alone?"  asked  father. 


THE    PARTY.  73 

"No;  she  would  skew  it  badly." 

"But,  my  dear,  you  are  sick;  why  not 
have  Euth  help  her?" 

"Ruth  does  not  understand  the  business 
as  well  as  I  do ;  and  more  than  that,  wre 
have  a  large  quantity  of  raspberries  to  be 
made  into  jelly.  They  would  spoil  if  they 
were  kept  over  Sunday." 

Worse  and  worse !  Who  was  going  to 
get  supper  for  my  party? 

Then  I  remembered  that  wonderful  some 
thing  which  Lize  Jane  had  promised  to 
bring  in  the  covered  dish,  —  that  delicious 
mystery  which  had  been  the  first  cause  of 
getting  me  into  trouble.  Perhaps  there 
would  be  enough  of  it  to  go  round,  and 
we  could  finish  off  with  cake.  I  began  to 
think  it  wasn't  much  matter  what  we  had 
to  eat. 

While  life  lasts  I  shall  never  forget  that 


74  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

horrible  afternoon.  What  could  I  say? 
What  could  I  do?  I  felt  as  Horace  used  to, 
as  if  I  should  "go  a-flyin'."  I  ran  into  the 
parlor  where  mother  and  Mrs.  Duffy  were 
putting  down  the  carpet,  and  hopped  about 
till  I  got  a  tack  in  my  foot ;  and  after  mother 
had  drawn  it  out,  and  I  had  clone  crying, 
I  ventured  to  say,  — 

"Mamma,  there's  a  little  girl  coming  to 
see  me  this  afternoon.  Are  you  willing?" 

"This  afternoon?     Who?" 

She  might  have  asked  who  wasn't  coming, 
and  I  could  have  answered  better. 

I  thought  a  minute,  and  then  said,  "Fel," 
for  I  knew  she  liked  her  best  of  all  the 
little  folks. 

"Very  well,"  said  mother,  and  wrent  on 
stretching  the  carpet. 

Fel  came  so  often  that  it  was  hardly 
worth  mentioning. 


THE   PARTY.  75 

"But,  mamma,  there's  somebody  else 
coming,  too.  It's  — it's— Dunie  Foster." 

Dunie  was  a  lady-child,  almost  as  well- 
behaved  as  Fel. 

"  Ah !  I'd  rather  have  her  come  some 
other  time.  But  run  away,  dear,  you  are 
troubling  me.  Take  the  little  girls  into 
the  dining-room.  I  want  the  sitting-room 
kept  nice  for  callers." 

I  couldn't  get  my  mouth  open  to  say  an 
other  word.  Three  o'clock  was  the  usual 
hour  for  little  girls  to  go  to  parties,  and  I 
flew  into  the  kitchen  to  ask  Euth  what  time 
it  was. 

"Two  o'clock,"  she  said. 

"And  in  an  hour  would  it  be  three?  How 
many  minutes  was  an  hour?  Did  that  jelly 
boil  fast  enough?  Did  jelly  bake  all  hard 
in  the  little  glass  cups  so  you  could  eat  it 
the  same  day  —  the  same  night  for  supper  ? 


76  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Was  there  any  cooked  chicken  in  the  house, 
with  breastings  in  (stuffing)  ?  Any  sand- 
iges?  Why  didn't  Ruthie  make  sandiges? 
Do  it  very  easy.  Why  didn't  Ruthie  make 
sailor-boy  doughnuts ?  /could  sprinkle  the 
sugar  on  'em,  see  'f  I  couldn't." 

In  the  midst  of  my  troublesome  chatter 
Abner  came  around  to  the  kitchen  door 
with  the  horse  and  wagon,  saying  he  was 
going  to  mill,  and  would  Tot  like  to  go, 
too? 

"Will  you  be  back  by  three  o'clock?" 
said  I. 

"Yes;  it  won't  take  me  half  an  hour." 

"  I  wonder  what's  the  child's  notion  of 
watching  the  clock  so  snug,"  remarked  Ruth, 
as  I  was  darting  into  the  parlor  to  ask  if 
I  might  go  to  mill. 

As  I  rode  along  with  Abner,  and  felt  the 
soft  summer  air  blow  on  my  face,  and  saw 


THE    PARTY.  77 

the  friendly  trees  nodding  "Good  day,"  it 
seemed  as  if  I  had  left  trouble  behind  me. 
What  was  the  use  in  going  back  to  it?  I 
had  half  a  mind  to  run  away. 

"I  didn't  want  to  stay  and  see  those  little 
girls  starve  to  death.  No  place  but  the 
'dine-room'  and  the  barn  to  play  in!  Be 
tied  to  the  bed-post  for  it  too  !  Ought  to 
be !  Wicked-bad-girl !  But  would  mam 
ma  tie  me  any  shorter  if  I  staid  away  till 
the  moon  came  up?  And  then  the  girls 'd 
be  gone  !  Get  away  from  Abner  just 's  easy  ! 
He'll  be  a  talkin'  to  the  man  'th  flour  on  his 
coat,  then  he'll  look  round  an' I'll  be  gone, 
an'  he'll  say,  'That  child's  "persest9 ";  he 
always  says  *persestj  and  then  he'll  go  home 
and  forget." 

But  stop  a  minute ;  what  would  the  girls 
think? 

"  They'll  think  me  very  unagreeable  to  go 


78  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

off  and  leave  my  party.  They'll  call  me  a 
little  lie-girl ;  they  wont  ask  me  to  their 
house  no  more." 

So  I  didn't  run  away.  .  I  sat  in  the  wagon, 
groaning  softly  to  myself.  The  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard.  Every  way  was  hard 
to  me  since  I  had  set  out  to  do  wrong.  It 
was  hard  to  run  off  and  be  called  "  unagree 
able,"  and  very,  very  hard  to  go  home 
and  face  my  troubles. 

I  had  not  supposed  there  was  the  least 
danger  of  any  one's  coming  before  three 
o'clock ;  but  to  my  surprise,  when  we 
reached  the  house,  I  found  the  front  entry 
full  of  small  girls  —  the  little  specks  in  A 
B  C.  There  they  stood,  some  of  them 
with  fingers  in  their  mouths,  while  mother 
held  the  parlor-door  open,  and  was  asking 
them  very  kindly  what  they  wanted.  "Mar 
garet,"  said  she,  "these  little  girls  have 


THE  PARTY.     Page  78, 


THE   PARTY.  79 

been  here  as  much  as  ten  minutes ;  I  don't 
know  yet  what  they  came  for ;  perhaps  you 
can  find  out." 

Poor,  sick  mother  was  holding  her  head 
with  her  hand  as  she  spoke.  I  hated  my 
self  so  that  I  wanted  to  scream. 

"Rattle,"  stammered  I,  taking  one  of  the 
tiny  ones  by  the  hand,  "come  out  in  the 
garden,  and  I'll  get  you  some  pretty  posies." 
Of  course  the  rest  followed  like  a  flock  of 
sheep.  But  we  had  hardly  reached  the  gar 
den  before  I  saw  three  or  four  more  girls 
coming.  It  was  of  no  use  ;  something  must 
be  done  at  once.  I  left  the  ABC  girls 
staring  at  the  garden  gate,  and  ran  to  the 
house  for  dear  life. 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !  "  cried  I,  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  my  breath  ;  and  then  I  rolled  my 
self  up  into  a  little  ball  of  anguish  on  the 
parlor  carpet. 


80  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Where's  the  camfire?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Duffy,  springing  up;  "that  child's  really  a 
fainting  off."  Mother  came  to  me  and  took 
my  hands;  she  says  I  was  so  pale  that  it 
quite  startled  her.  "  Where  do  you  feel  sick, 
dear  ?  "  she  asked  tenderly. 

That  sympathetic  tone  broke  me  down 
entirely.  My  stubborn  pride  yielded  at 
once,  and  so  did  that  bitter  feeling  I  had 
been  cherishing  so  long  in  regard  to  the 
parasol. 

"  O,  mamma  !  "  sobbed  I,  catching  the  skirt 
of  her  dress  and  hiding  my  head  in  it,  and 
forgetting  all  about  Mrs.  Duffy;  "I  don't 
care  what  you  do,  mamma.  You  may  send 
'em  home,  and  tell  'em  they  didn't  be  invited  ; 
you  may  go  to  the  front  door  and  say  it  this 
minute." 

"It's  gone  till  her  head,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy, 
laying  down  the  hammer ;  "  see  her  shuvver  ! 


THE    PARTY.  81 

She   nades   hot   wather   till   her   Me,  poor 
thing." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do  to  me,  mamma ; 
you  may  tie  me  to  the  bed-post,  and  sew  me 
up  in  a  bag  and  throw  me  in  the  river.  You 
would,  if  you  knew  what  I've  been  a  doin'. 
I  —  I  —  I've  got  a  party  !  " 

Mother  held  her  hand  to  her  head  and 
stared  at  me.  Just  then  the  door-bell  rang. 

"That's  some  of  the  party,"  wailed  I. 
"And  those  little  bits  of  giris  were  some, 
and  this  is  some  now,  and  more's  a  comin'. 
I'm  so  glad  you  didn't  give  me  no  pairsol, 
mamma." 

"It  can't  be  ;  Margaret,  you  haven't  —  " 

"Yes,  I  have  too.  Yes,  mamma,  I've  got 
a  party  !  I'm  wickeder  'n  ever  you  heard 
of.  Wont  you  put  me  in  the  river?  I  want 
you  to.  O,  I'm  so  glad  you  didn't  give  me 
no  pairsol." 

6 


82  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Mother  pulled  the  carpet  and  looked  at 
me,  and  then  pulled  the  carpet  again.  She 
was  considering  what  to  do.  Ruthie  had 
gone  to  the  door  when  the  bell  rang;  we 
heard  her  voice  in  the  entry. 

"Call  Ruth  in  here  to  me,"  said  mother, 
"  and  take  your  little  girls  into  the  garden." 

I  knew  by  that,  that  she  didn't  mean  to 
send  them  home;  and  O,  how  I  loved  her. 
It  seemed  to  me  I  loved  her  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  for  I  never  knew  before 
how  good  she  was,  or  how  beautiful !  Her 
head  was  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief,  and  she 
wore  a  faded  calico  dress  and  a  tow  apron, 
but  I  thought  she  looked  like  an  angel.  I 
lay  flat  at  her  feet  and  adored  her. 

While  I  was  taking  my  little  girls  into  the 
garden  and  trying  to  play,  mother  was  talk 
ing  to  Ruthie  about  this  strange  freak  of 
mine.  This  I  learned  afterwards. 


THE    PARTY.  83 

"I  don't  like  to  disappoint  all  these  little 
children,"  said  she,  "and  I  don't  like  to  ex 
pose  my  naughty  daughter  either.  You  see, 
Ruth,  if  they  find  out  what  a  dreadful  thing 
she  has  done,  they  will  not  like  her  any 
more,  and  their  mothers  will  not  let  them 
come  to  see  her.  And  that  may  make  Mar 
garet  a  worse  girl,  for  she  needs  a  great  deal 
of  love." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Ruthie ;  she's  got  a  big, 
warm  heart  of  her  own,  and  one  can  feel  to 
forgive  such  children  better  than  the  cold, 
selfish  ones ;  you  know  that  yourself,  Mrs. 
Parlin.  Why,  bless  her,  she  never  had  an 
orange  or  a  peach  in  her  life,  that  she  didn't 
give  away  half." 

It  gratified  my  poor  mother  to  see  Ruthie 
so  ready  to  take  my  part.  It  was  more 
than  she  liked  to  do  to  ask  the  tired  girl  to 
go  to  work  again  over  the  hot  stove  and 


84  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

prepare  a  supper  for  an  army  of  children ; 
but  Ruthie  did  not  wait  to  be  asked ;  for 
love  of  mother  and  for  love  of  me,  she  set 
herself  about  it  with  a  hearty  good-will.  I 
do  not  remember  much  that  was  said  or 
done  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon ;  only,  I 
know  every  single  girl  came  that  was  in 
vited,  and  they  all  said  it  was  a  nicer  party 
than  even  FePs ;  but  Fel  didn't  care ;  she 
was  glad  of  it.  Of  course  it  was  nicer,  for 
Ruthie  spread  the  table  in  the  front  yard, 
and  'Ria  was  so  kind  as  to  adorn  it  with 
flowers,  and  lay  wreaths  of  cedar  round  the 
plates.  We  had  cup-custards  and  cookies, 
and,  something  I  didn't  expect,  little  "san- 
diges,"  with  cold  ham  in  the  middle.  But 
didn't  I  know  it  was  more  than  I  deserved  ? 
Didn't  my  heart  swell  with  shame,  and  guilt, 
and  gratitude?  I  remember  rushing  into 


THE    PARTY.  85 

the  house  in  the  very  midst  of  the  supper, 
just  to  hug  mother  and  Ruthie. 

The  funny  thing,  the  only  funny  thing 
there  was  to  the  whole  party,  was  Lize 
Jane's  present.  In  my  agitation  I  had  al 
most  forgotten  how  anxious  I  was  to  see 
it.  She  came  dressed  very  smartly  in  red 
calico,  with  a  blue  bow  at  her  throat.  Her 
hair  was  remarkably  glossy,  and  she  told  us, 
in  a  loud  whisper,  she  had  "  stuck  it  down 
with  bear's  grease  and  cologne."  She 
brought  her  old  tin  pail,  the  very  one  she 
picked  currants  in,  only  it  really  had  a  cover 
on  it  now,  and  that  was  what  she  called  "a 
covered  dish."  And  guess  what  was  in  it? 

Pumpkin  sauce!  The  drollest  looking 
mess.  Dried  pumpkin  stewed  in  molasses. 
She  said  I  never  tasted  anything  like  it  be 
fore,  and  I  am  sure  I  never  did,  and  never 
should  want  to  again. 


86  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  my  party. 
Mother  didn't  sew  me  up  in  a  bag  and  throw 
me  in  the  river,  for  she  was  the  most  patient 
woman  alive.  She  only  forbade  my  going 
to  anybody's  house  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
It  was  a  hard  punishment ;  but  I  knew  it 
was  just,  and  I  could  not  complain.  My 
heart  was  really  touched,  and  I  had  learned 
a  lesson  not  easily  forgotten.  When  I  think 
of  that  party  now,  it  is  with  a  feeling  of 
gratitude  to  my  dear  mother  for  her  great 
forbearance,  and  her  wise  management  of  a 
wayward,  naughty  little  girl. 


THE   PATCHWORK  SCHOOL.  87 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL. 

FEL  and  I  had  begun  to  read  before 
we  were  four  years  old,  and  by  the  time 
we  were  six  we  knew  too  much  to  go  to 
the  town  school  any  more.  I  believe  that 
was  what  we  thought;  but  the  fact  was, 
Fel  was  very  delicate,  and  her  mother 
considered  the  walk  to  the  school-house 
too  long  for  her,  and  the  benches  too  hard. 
She  wished  to  have  a  governess  come  and 
live  in  the  house,  so  the  child  could  study 
at  home.  I  thought  this  was  too  bad.  I 
knew  almost  as  much  as  Fel  did.  Why 


88  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

must  I  go  to  the  town  school  if  it  wasn't 
good  enough  for -her? 

"Mamma,  I  wish  I  was  del'cate,"  whined 
I.  "Ned  snipped  off  my  finger  in  the 
corn-sheller,  —  don't  that  make  me  del'- 
cate  ?  " 

"  Delicate  !  "  said  Ned.  "  You're  as  tough 
as  a  pine  knot." 

I  thought  this  was  a  cruel  speech.  He 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  snip  off  my  fin 
ger,  and  then  call  me  tough. 

In  looking  about  for  a  governess,  Mad 
am  Allen  thought  at  once  of  dear  Mar 
tha  Eubie,  who  lived  just  across  the  garden 
from  their  house.  Uncle  John's  wife  was 
her  sister,  the  aunt  Persis  I  told  you 
about,  who  thought  I  ou<rht  not  to  hear 
baby-talk.  Aunt  Persis  wasn't  willing  her 
sister  Martha  should  go  away  from  home  ; 
she  said  Fel  might  trip  across  the  gar- 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  89 

den  and  say  her  lessons  at  her  house. 
Fel  didn't  like  to  do  it,  for  she  was  afraid 
of  aunt  Persis — she  wouldn't  go  unless  I 
would  go  with  her;  and  finally  mother 
said  I  might ;  so  it  turned  out  just  as 
well  for  me  as  if  I  was  delicate.  She 
wanted  Gust  to  go  too,  and  he  wasn't 
willing.  But  if  Fel  set  her  heart  on  any 
thing  it  generally  came  about. 

"Augustus,"  said  Madam  Allen,  smiling 
with  her  pleasant  black  eyes,  which  had  a 
firm  look  in  them,  "you  will  recite  to 
Miss  Eubie  if  I  wish  it." 

"Well,  then,  I  want  some  of  the  other 
fellows  to  'cite  too,"  sniffed  little  Gust; 
"'tisn't  fair  for  one  boy  to  go  to  a  patch 
work  school,  long  o'  girls." 

And  thus  it  happened  that  several  chil 
dren  joined  us,  and  Miss  Eubie  had  quite 
a  sizable  school. 


90  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  sort  of  a 
house  we  went  to ;  for  the  whole  thing  was 
very  queer.  In  the  first  place,  there  was 
dear  uncle  John, — yes,  your  uncle  John; 
but  don't  ask  any  questions ;  I'll  tell  you 
more  by  and  by,  —  and  his  wife,  that  was 
aunt  Persis ;  and  his  wife's  sister,  dear 
sweet  Martha  Rubie ;  and  his  little  boy, 
Zed.  Aunt  Persis  was  an  elegant,  stately 
woman,  but  there  was  always  something 
odd  about  her.  I  think  myself  it  was 
odd  she  shouldn't  like  baby-talk. 

She  knit  herself  into  my  earliest  recol 
lections  when  she  was  Pauline  Rubie,  and 
after  she  married  uncle  John,  she  knit 
my  stockings  just  the  same,  and  uncle 
never  interfered  with  the  stripes,  red  and 
white,  running  round  and  round  like  a  bar 
ber's  pole.  They  were  the  pride  of  my  life 
till  Gust  Allen  said  they  made  my  little 


THE   PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  91 

legs  look  like  sticks  of  candy,  good  enough 
to  eat.  Then  I  hated  them  ;  but  aunt  Per- 
sis  had  got  in  the  way  of  knitting  stripes, 
and  wouldn't  stop  it,  beg  as  I  might  — 
for  she  always  thought  her  way  was  right, 
and  couldn't  be  improved. 

Among  other  things  she  thought  she 
knew  all  about  medicine.  There  was  a 
system  called  "hot  crop,"  or  "steaming," 
and  she  believed  in  it,  and  wanted  every 
body  to  take  fiery  hot  drinks,  and  be 
steamed.  That  was  the  chief  reason  why 
we  were  so  afraid  of  her. 

Her  house  was  a  very  pleasant,  cosy 
one,  or  would  have  been  if  it  hadn't  had 
such  a  scent  of  herbs  all  through  it.  The 
first  day  we  went  to  school  aunt  Persis 
met  us  at  the  door,  and  asked  Fel  to  put 
out  her  tongue.  Then  she  took  us  to  a 
cupboard,  and  gave  Pel  something  to  drink, 


92  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

that  we  both  thought  was  coffee;  but  it 
was  stinging  hot  composition  tea.  Miss 
Rubie  came  into  the  kitchen  just  as  Fel 
was  catching  her  breath  over  the  last 
mouthful,  and  said  she,  — 

"O,  Persis,  how  could  you?" 
We  followed  Miss  Rubie  into  the  school 
room  as  fast  as  we  could  go.  This  school 
room  was  right  over  a  little  cellar,  just 
deep  enough  for  a  grown  person  to  stand 
up  in.  It  was  called  the  "jelly-cellar," 
and  when  we  were  naughty  Miss  Rubie 
opened  a  trap-door  and  let  us  down.  I 
was  so  restless  and  noisy  that  for  a  while 
I  spent  half  my  time  in  that  cellar,  sur 
rounded  by  jars  of  jelly  and  jam.  And 
I  am  afraid  I  could  say  sometimes,  "How 
sweet  is  solitude  ! "  for  there  was  just  light 
enough  from  the  one  window  to  give  me  a 
clear  view  of  the  jars,  with  their  nice  white 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  93 

labels,  and  more  than  once  I  did  —  I  blush 
to  confess  it  —  I  did  pnt  my  fingers  into 
a  peach  jar  and  help  myself  to  preserves. 
I  was  old  enough  to  know  better ;  I  re 
sisted  the  temptation  a  great  many  days, 
but  one  unlucky  morning  I  espied  Dunie 
Foster  coming  up  from  the  cellar  with 
jelly  stains  on  her  white  apron,  and  that 
set  me  to  thinking. 

"Ah,  ha;  Dunie  eats  perserves,  and  looks 
just  as  innocent's  a  lamb !  Folks  think 
she's  better  'n  me,  but  she  isn't,  she's  a 
make-believer.  I  wonder  if  it's  dreadful 
wicked  to  take  perserves?  Prehaps  auntie 
spects  us  to  eat  'em.  Any  way,  Fel  Allen 
never  gets  put  down  cellar,  and  it's  real 
mean ;  and  if  I  have  to  stay  clown  there 
the  whole  time  I  ought  to  have  something 
to  make  me  feel  better ;  I  feel  real  hun 
gry,  and  they  ought  to  sped  I'd  eat  per- 


94  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

serves."  So  I  did  it;  partly  because  Diu 
me  did,  partly  because  Fel  wasn't  pun 
ished  and  ought  to  be,  and  partly  be 
cause  it  was  most  likely  auntie  put  'em 
there  a-purpose  !  I  think  I  never  did  it 
but  three  times ;  and  the  third  time  it  was 
thoroughwort  and  molasses  !  Strong,  I  as 
sure  you,  boiled  down  to  a  thick  sirup. 
I  had  the  jar  at  my  lips,  and  had  taken 
a  long,  deep  draught,  W7hen  I  happened  to 
look  up,  and  there  wras  aunt  Persis  go 
ing  by  the  window,  and  looking  straight 
down  at  me  ! 

I  was  so  startled  by  the  bitter  taste  in 
my  mouth  and  the  sight  of  aunt  Persis, 
both  coming  at  the  same  time,  that  I  gave 
a  little  scream,  and  pranced  round  and 
round  the  cellar  like  a  wild  animal.  Miss 
Rubie  heard  me,  and  came  down  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  She  did  not  ask  if 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  95 

I  had  been  meddling  with  the  jars ;  but  she 
must  have  known,  for  a  sticky  stream  was 
trickling  over  my  dress,  and  I  had  set  the 
sirup  down  on  the  floor  with  the  cover  off. 
She  bent  a  keen  glance  on  me,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  saw  a  little  twinkle  in  her  eye. 
I  suppose  she  thought  my  guilt  would  bring 
its  own  punishment,  for  she  probably  knew 
the  thoroughwort  would  make  me  sick. 

"Are  you  ready  now  to  be  a  good,  quiet 
girl?"  said  she.  I  had  been  shut  down  for 
noisiness. 

"Yes'm,"  said  I,  meekly,  and  followed 
her  up  stairs. 

But  though  my  heart  was  heavy  with 
shame,  I  could  not  help  thinking,  "What 
orful  tastin'  perserves  ! "  and  wondering  if 
aunt  Persis  really  was  crazy,  as  Tempy 
Ann  said  she  was. 

Miss  Kubie  had  had  reason  to  think  be- 


96  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

fore  that  some  of  the  children  went  to  those 
jars,  but  she  did  not  say  so ;  she  merely 
remarked,  — 

•'It  is  nearly  noon,  children;  you  may 
lay  aside  your  books  now,  and,  if  you  like, 
I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

Everybody  was  pleased  but  me.  I  want 
ed  to  go  home.  The  story  was  from  the 
text,  "Thou,  God,  seest  me."  It  was  about 
Ad  aline  Singleton,  a  little  girl  who  topk 
her  mother's  cake  without  leave,  and  her 
mother  counted  the  slices,  and  found  her 
out. 

I  could  not  look  up  at  Miss  Eubie  all 
the  while  she  was  talking,  but  I  noticed 
Dunie  Foster  did.  I  was  trying  to  rub  that 
zigzag  stream  of  sirup  off  my  apron  ;  and 
O,  how  sick  I  grew  !  Would  she  ever  stop? 

I  knew  God  had  seen  me  yesterday  and 
day  before,  when  I  ate  peach  preserves, 


THE   PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  97 

and  I  had  no  doubt  it  was  to  punish  rce 
that  I  had  been  allowed  to  swallow  this 
bitter  stuff  to-day.  But,  O,  if  I  could  go 
home ! 

I  never  see  that  story  of  Adaline  Single 
ton  now  among  my  books  but  it  calls  up 
a  remembrance  of  guilt  and  nausea  too.  I 
would  give  a  great  deal,  little  Fly,  if  I 
hadn't  so  many  bad  things  to  remember. 
It  is  because  I  hope  to  do  you  good  that  I 
am  willing  to  tell  of  them.  May  you  have 
a  purer  childhood  to  look  back  upon ! 

Thankful  was  I  when  school  was  out  that 
noon,  but  I  wasn't  able  to  go  again  in  the 
afternoon ;  and  my  mother  knew  why  ! 

It  was  the  last  time  I  was  ever  put  in  that 
cellar.  Miss  Eubie  found  another  method 
of  punishment ;  and  I  think  I  can  say  truth 
fully  it  was  the  last  time  I  ever  took  sweet 
meats  without  leave.  I  did  other  wrong 


98  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

things  in  plenty,  but  that  I  could  never  do 
again.  When  mother  said  I  might  go  to 
the  box  and  get  "half  a  dozen  raisins,"  I 
got  half  a  dozen,  and  not  a  handful.  Those 
solemn  words  rang  in  my  ears,  —  "Thou, 
God,  seest  me,"  —  just  as  Miss  Rubie  had 
spoken  them  in  her  low,  sweet  tones. 

For  days  I  dared  not  meet  aunt  Persis's 
eye,  but  she  treated  me  just  the  same, 
often  loading  me  down  with  pennyroyal  and 
spearmint  to  take  home  to  mother.  I  did 
not  know  she  was  near-sighted,  and  had 
not  seen  me  drinking  her  thoroughwort.  It 
was  the  first  medicine  of  hers  I  had  ever 
taken,  and  that  bitter  taste  in  my  mouth 
decided  me,  upon  reflection,  that  she  was 
crazy.  As  it  proved,  I  was  not  very  far 
wrong. 

There  had  been  something  the  matter  with 
her  wits  for  two  or  three  years,  and  she 


THE   PATCHWORK   SCHOOL.  99 

was  growing  queerer  and  queerer.  People 
be°nn  to  wonder  what  made  her  want  to 

o 

look  at  their  tongues  so  much.  She  said 
now  if  she  met  people  on  her  way  to  church, 
"Please,  put  out  your  tongue;"  and  some 
times  said  it  on  the  very  church  steps.  This 
was  queer ;  but  they  did  not  know  how 
much  queerer  she  was  at  home.  We  chil 
dren  could  have  told  how  she  came  into  the 
school-room  and  felt  all  our  pulses,  but  we 
thought  Miss  Eubie  would  be  sorry  to  have 
us  tell. 

Her  little  boy  Zed,  about  four  years  old, 
had  to  take  her  dreadful  medicines,  of 
course,  for  medicine  was  the  very  thing 
auntie  was  crazy  about.  He  carried  some 
of  his  doses  into  school  to  drink  at  recess, 
and  we  all  pitied  him.  Sometimes  he  ate 
dry  senna  and  raisins  mixed  on  a  plate,  and 
we  teased  away  the  raisins,  and  he  had  to 


100  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

chew  the  senna  "bare."  He  cried  then,  and 
said  we  ought  to  help  eat  that  too,  and  we 
did.  I  thought  it  had  a  crazy  taste,  like 
the  thoroughwort,  and  was  sorry  Zed  had 
a  liver  inside  him,  and  wished  that  his  moth 
er  hadn't  found  it  out. 

Miss  Eubie  was  very  good  and  patient 
with  us,  but  we  began  to  dread  to  go  to 
school.  I  overheard  Tempy  Ann  say  to 
Polly  Whiting,— 

"The  story  is,  that  Mrs.  Adams  (aunt 
Persis)  steamed  her  own  mother  out  of  the 
world." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  said  Polly.  "How 
long  since  ?  " 

"  About  two  years  ago.  The  poor  old 
lady  sailed  off  very  easy,  with  a  jug  of  hot 
water  close  to  her  nose/' 

That  frightened  us  dreadfully.  We  knew 
aunt  Persis  steamed  Zed,  for  he  said  so; 


THE    PATCHORK   QCI^Op^^  ]^  ;  J.Q1 


and  what  if  she  should  steam  us  all  out  of 
the  world  with  jugs  of  hot  water  close  to 
our  noses?  And  she  was  always  trying 
to  make  Fel  swallo\vr  something  bad,  and 
always  talking  about  her  white  face.  "  Tell 
your  mother  to  let  me  have  you  for  a 
month,"  said  she,  "and  I'll  put  roses  into 
your  cheeks,  my  dear." 

Fel  was  so  afraid  that  she  trembled  when 
we  went  into  the  house,  expecting  auntie 
would  spring  out  upon  her,  and  set  her 
over  the  fire  to  steam.  But  she  was  such 
a  patient,  still  little  thing  that  she  never 
complained,  even  to  her  own  mother,  and  I 
was  too  rattle-brained  to  think  much  about 
it,  though  if  I  myself  had  expected  to  be 
cooked,  the  whole  town  would  have  heard 
of  it. 

Zed  grew  paler  and  paler.  I  asked  Miss 
Rubie,  privately,  w  what  made  his  mother 


;102  ,  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

boil  him?"  And  she  smiled,  though  not 
as  if  she  was  happy,  and  said,  — 

"She  doesn't  boil  him  when  I  can  help 
it,  dear." 

About  this  time  I  heard  my  mother  say 
to  my  father  she  wished  uncle  John  was  at 
home,  for  auntie  acted  so  odd,  and  her  eyes 
looked  so  strange. 

"Yes,  mamma,"  cried  I,  rushing  in  from 
the  nursery,  "  she  boils  her  little  boy,  and 
she  wants  to  boil  Fel.  I  should  think  you'd 
tell  FePs  mother,  for  Fel  dassent  tell,  she's 
so  scared." 

I  think  mother  went  right  to  Madam 
Allen  with  what  I  said,  for  the  next  night, 
when  I  wras  at  Squire  Allen's,  and  Fel  was 
sitting  in  her  mamma's  lap,  Madam  Allen 
said,  — 

«  Why  didn't  my  little  girl  let  me  know 
she  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  Adams?  When  dar- 


THE   PATCIIWOUK   SCHOOL.  103 

ling  feels  unhappy  about  anything  she  must 
always  tell  mamma." 

Fel  was  so  glad  somebody  was  going  to 
protect  her,  that  she  threw  her  arms  about 
her  mother's  neck,  and  sobbed  for  joy. 
"Don't  let  her  hurt  Zed  either,"  said  she. 
She  was  such  a  dear  little  soul,  always 
thinking  about  others. 

"  Now  tell  me  if  that  boy  has  got  a  name  ?" 
spoke  up  grandpa  Harrington.  That  was 
what  he  always  asked  when  any  one  spoke 
of  Zed. 

"Yes,  sir;  his  name  is  Eosalvin  Colva- 
zart,"  said  Madam  Allen.  "  Zed  is  for 
short." 

WI  know,  I  know,  Rose  Albert  Coffee 
pot,"  laughed  grandpa.  He  had  said  that 
fifty  times,  but  he  always  thought  it  a 
new  joke. 


104  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

That  night,  while  we  wrere  all  soundly 
asleep,  we  were  suddenly  roused  by  the 
sharp  ringing  of  the  door-bell.  Squire  Allen 
went  to  the  door,  and  there,  on  the  steps, 
stood  our  dear  teacher,  Martha  Kubie,  in 
her  night  dress,  with  a  shawl  over  her 
shoulders. 

"O,  Mr.  Allen!  O,  madam!  come  quick! 
My  sister  is  worse.  She  has  steamed  Zed, 
and  she  was  trying  him  with  a  fork ;  but  I 
locked  him  into  the  closet.  Do  come  and 
take  care  of  her.  She  is  putting  lobelia 
down  the  cow's  throat." 

Fel  and  I  screamed,  and  Tempy  Ann  had 
to  come  in  and  soothe  us.  Fel  wasn't  will 
ing  her  father  and  mother  should  go  ;  but  I 
said,  "Don't  you  be  afraid;  aunt  Persis 
won't  boil  'em ;  they're  too  big  to  get  into 
the  kettle.' 


THE    PATCHWORK    SCHOOL.  105 

Ternpy  Ann  laughed  in  her  shaky  way  — 
which  always  made  me  provoked. 

"Tempy  Ann,"  cried  I,  jumping  over  the 
foot-board,  ff  I  guess  you  wouldn't  laugh  if 
you  should  be  doubled  up,  and  put  over  the 
stove  !  You  needn't  think  Fel  and  I  are 
babies,  and  don'  know  what  you  said  about 
her  boiling  her  mother  up  the  chimney,  with 
a  jug  on  her  nose;  but  we  do  know,  and 
it's  so,  and  sober  true,  for  we've  seen  the 
kettle." 

But  it  wasn't  of  the  least  use  to  reason 
with  Tempy  Ann  when  she  had  one  of  those 
shaky  spells.  So  silly  as  she  was  at  such 
times,  I*  almost  wished  she  could  be  boiled 
half  a  minute,  to  see  if  it  wouldn't  sober 
her  down. 

It  seems  aunt  Persis  had  really  become 
very  crazy  indeed;  and  that  dear,  sweet, 


106  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

patient,  good  Martha  had  been  trying  to 
keep  it  a  secret ;  but  it  couldn't  be  done 
any  longer.  She  acted  so  badly  that  Martha 
couldn't  manage  her.  When  Squire  Allen 
went  into  the  house,  she  was  stirring  "Num 
ber  Six"  into  some  corn-meal  for  the  hens, 
and  was  very  angry  with  him  because  he 
made  her  leave  off  and  go  to  bed. 

Father  and  mother  had  to  take-  care  of 
her  till  uncle  John  came ;  but  she  was  as 
sick  as  she  was  crazy,  and  did  not  live  till 
October. 

I  remember  looking  at  her  beautiful,  white 
face,  the  first  I  ever  saw  in  death,  and 
thinking,  — 

"How  glad  auntie  is  to  be  so  still." 

No  one  told  me  she  was  tired,  but  some 
how  I  knew  it,  for  she  was  always  flying 
about  in  such  a  hurry,  and  I  was  sure  it 


THE    PATCHWORK   SCHOOL.  107 

must  rest  her  very  much  to  go  to  sleep.  I 
received  then  a  pleasant,  peaceful  impres 
sion  of  death,  which  I  never  forgot. 

Miss  Rubie  staid  at  Squire  Allen's  for 
some  time,  and  taught  Fel.  Now  she  is  a 
person  whom  you  all  know  very  well ;  but 
I  shall  not  tell  who  she  is  till  by  and  by. 


108  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL. 

AND  now  I  will  skip  along  to  the  next 
summer,  and  come  to  the  dreadful  lie  I  told 
about  the  hatchet.  You  remember  it,«IIor- 
ace  and  Prudy,  how  I  saw  your  uncle  Ned's 
hatchet  on  the  meat  block,  and  heedlessly 
took  it  up  to  break  open  some  clams,  and 
then  was  so  frightened  that  I  dared  not  tell 
how  I  cut  my  foot.  "O,  mamma,"  said  I, 
"my  foot  slipped,  and  I  fell  and  hit  me  on 
something;  I  don't  know  whether  'twas  a 
hatchet  or  a  stick  of  wood ;  but  I  never 
touched  the  hatchet." 

It  was  very  absurd.     I  think  I  did  not 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  109 

know  clearly  what  I  was  saying ;  but  after 
I  had  once  said  it,  I  supposed  it  would 
not  do  to  take  it  back,  but  kept  repeating 
it,  "No,  mamma,  I  never  touched  the 
hatchet." 

Mother  was  grieved  to  hear  me  tell  such 
a  wrong  story,  but  it  was  no  time  to  reason 
with  me  then,  for  before  my  boot  could  be 
drawn  off  I  had  fainted  away.  When  I 
came»to  myself,  and  saw  Dr.  Foster  was 
there,  it  was  as  much  as  they  could  do  to 
keep  me  on  the  bed.  I  was  dreadfully  afraid 
of  that  man.  I  thought  I  had  deceived 
mother,  but  I  knew  I  couldn't  deceive  him. 

"So,  so,  little  girl,  you  thought  you'd 
make  me  a  good  job  while  you  were  about 
it.  There's  no  half-way  work  about  you," 
said  he.  And  then  he  laughed  in  a  way 
that  rasped  across  my  feelings  like  the  noise 
of  sharpening  a  slate  pencil,  and  said  I 


110  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

mustn't  be  allowed  to  move  my  foot  for  days 
and  days. 

Every  morning  when  he  came,  he  asked, 
with  that  dreadful  smile,  — 

"  Let  us  see :  how  is  it  we  cut  our 
foot?" 

And  I  answered,  blushing  with  all  my 
might,  "Just  the  same  as  I  did  in  the  first 
place,  you  know,  sir." 

Upon  which  he  would  show  all  his  white 
teeth,  and  say,  — 

"Well,  stick  to  it,  my  dear;  you  remem 
ber  the  old  saying,  '  A  lie  well  stuck  to  is 
better  than  the  truth  wavering.'" 

I  did  not  understand  that,  but  I  knew  he 
was  making  firti  of  me.  I  understood  what 
Ned  meant ;  for  he  said  flatly,  "  You've  told 
a  bouncer,  miss." 

I  was  so  glad  Gust  Allen  wasn't  in 
town ;  he  was  a  worse  tease  than  Ned. 


"THE  LITTLE  LIE-GIRL.  Ill 

When  Abner  came   in   to    bring  me   apples 
or  cherries,  he  always  asked, — 

"Any  news  from  the  hatchet,  Maggie?" 
And  then  chucked  me  under  the  chin,  add 
ing,  "You're  a  steam-tug  for  telling  wrong 
stories.  Didn't  know  how  smart  you  were 
before." 

Miss  Rubie  said  nothing ;  she  came  in 
with  Fel  every  day  ;  but  I  presumed  she 
was  thinking  over  that  solemn  text,  "Thou, 
God,  seest  me." 

'Ria  did  not  say  anything  either;  but  I 
always  felt  as  if  she  was  just  going  to  say 
something,  and  dreaded  to  have  her  bring 
in  my  dinner. 

I  knew  that  father  "looked  straight 
through  my  face  down  to  the  lie;"  but  I 
still  thought  that  mother  believed  in  me. 
One  day  I  found  out  my  mistake.  Ned 
had  been  saying  some  pretty  cutting  things, 


112  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

and  I  appealed  to  her,  as  she  came  into  the 
room  :  — 

"Mayn't  Ned  stop  plaguing  me,  mam 
ma?" 

"No  more  of  that,  Edward,"  said  mother, 
looking  displeased.  "It  is  too  serious  a 
subject  for  jokes.  If  Margaret  has  told  us 
a  wrong  story,  she  is,  of  course,  very  un 
happy.  Do  not  add  to  her  distress,  my  son. 
We  keep  hoping  every  day  to  hear  her  con 
fess  the  truth  ;  she  may  be  sure  there  is 
nothing  that  would  make  us  all  so  glad." 

So  mother  knew  !  She  must  have  known 
all  along !  She  turned  to  bring  me  my 
dolly  from  the  table,  and  I  saw  her  eyes 
were  red.  I  wanted  to  throw  myself  on  her 
neck  and  confess  ;  but  there  was  Ned,  and 
somehow  I  never  saw  mother  alone  after 
that  when  I  could  maka  it  convenient. 

She   was  right  in  thinking  me  unhappy, 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  113 

but  she  little  dreamed  how  wretched  I  was. 
Horace  and  Prudy,  you  have  heard  some 
thing  of  this  before  ;  but  I  must  tell  it  now 
to  Dotty  and  Fly ;  for  that  hatchet  affair 
was  a  sort  of  crisis  in  my  life. 

You  know  I  had  not  always  told  the  truth. 
My  imagination  was  active,  and  I  liked  to 
relate  wonderful  stories,  to  make  people  open 
their  eyes.  It  was  not  wrong  in  the  first 
place,  for  I  was  a  mere  baby.  The  whole 
world  was  new  and  wonderful  to  me,  and 
one  thing  seemed  about  as  strange  to  me  as 
another.  I  could  not  see  much  difference 
between  the  real  and  the  unreal,  between 
the  "truly  true"  and  the  make  believe. 
When  I  said  my  mamma  had  silk  dresses, 
spangled  with  stars,  I  was  thinking, — 

"Perhaps  she  has.  There's  sumpin  in  a 
trunk  locked  up,  and  I  guess  it's  silk 
dresses." 


114  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

But  as  I  grew  older  I  learned  better  than 
to  talk  so.  I  found  I  must  keep  such  wild 
fancies  to  myself,  and  only  tell  of  what  I 
knew  to  be  true.  Every  time  I  wanted  to 
utter  a  falsehood,  a  little  voice  in  my  soul 
warned  me  to  stop. 

Fly,  you  are  old  enough  to  know  what  I 
mean.  Your  eyes  say  so.  You  didn't  hear 
that  voice  when  you  were  patting  round 
grandma's  kitchen,  making  Euthie's  coffee- 
mill  buzz.  You  were  too  little  to  hear  it 
then.  It  had  nothing  to  say  to  you  when 
you  stole  your  mamma's  "  skipt,"  and  soaked 
it  in  the  wash-bowl ;  or  when  you  stuffed 
your  little  cheeks  with  'serves  without  leave, 
or  told  lies,  lies,  lies,  as  often  as  you  opened 
your  sweet  little  lips. 

"You  don't  'member  actin'  so?" 

O,  no  ;  it  was  "  so  many  years  ago  !"  But 
I  was  going  to  say  you  did  all  those  dread- 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  115 

ful  things,  and  still  you  were  not  naughty. 
Nobody  thinks  any  the  worse  of  you  to-day 
for  all  your  baby-mischief.  We  only  laugh 
about  it,  for  you  did  not  know  any  better. 
But  if  you  were  to  do  such  things  now,  what 
should  we  say?  Your  soul-voice  would  tell 
you  it  was  wrong,  and  it  would  be  wrong. 

My  soul-voice  talked  to  me,  and  I  was 
learning  to  listen  to  it.  I  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  telling  lies  ;  I  had  been  hurried  and 
frightened  into  this  one,  and  now  it  seemed 
as  if  I  could  not  stop  saying  it  any  more 
than  a  ball  can  stop  rolling  down  hill. 

It  was  dreadful.  I  had  to  lie  there  on 
mother's  bed  and  think  about  it.  I  could 
not  go  out  of  doors,  or  even  walk  about  the 
room.  Fel  had  lain  in  her  pretty  blue 
chamber  day  after  day,  too  sick  to  eat  any 
thing  but  broths  and  gruel ;  but  then  her 
conscience  was  easy.  I  wasn't  sick,  and 


116  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

could  have  as  many  nice  things  to  eat  as  the 
rest  of  the  family;  still  I  was  wretched. 

My  little  friends  came  to  see  me,  and 
were  very  sorry  for  me.  I  was  glad  to  be 
remembered ;  but  every  time  I  heard  the 
door  open,  I  trembled  for  fear  some  one  was 
going  to  say  "hatchet." 

And  when  I  was  alone  again  I  would  turn 
my  face  so  I  could  watch  the  little  clock  on 
the  mantel.  It  ticked  with  a  far-away, 
dreamy  sound,  like  a  child  talking  in  its 
sleep,  and  somehow  it  had  always  one  story 
to  tell,  and  never  any  other; — "You've  told 
—  a  lie;  —  you've  told  —  a  lie." 

"Well,"  thought  I,  "I  know  it;  but  stop 
plaguing  me." 

There  was  a  pretty  picture  on  the  clock 
door  of  a  little  girl,  with  her  apron  full  of 
flowers.  It  was  to  this  little  girl  that  I 
whispered,  "Well,  I  know  it;  but  you  stop 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  117 

plaguing  me."  She  went  right  on  just  the 
same, — "You've  told  — a  lie  ;  you've  told  — 
a  lie."  I  turned  my  face  to  the  wall  to  get 
rid  of  her,  but  always  turned  it  back  again, 
for  there  was  a  strange  charm  about  that 
dreadful  little  girl.  I  could  tell  you  now 
just  how  she  was  dressed,  and  which  way 
she  bent  her  head  with  the  wreath  of  flowers 
on  it.  You  have  noticed  the  old  clock  in 
Kuth's  room  at  grandpa's?  That's  the  one. 
I  never  see  it  now  but  its  slow  tick-tock 
calls  to  mind  my  sad  experience  with  the 
hatchet. 

Days  passed.  I  was  doing  my  first  real 
thinking.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  never 
kept  still  long  enough  to  think.  It  was 
some  comfort  to  draw  the  sheet  over  my 
head,  and  make  up  faces  at  myself. 

"You've  told  a  lie,  Mag  Parlin.  Just 
'cause  your  afraid  of  getting  scolded  at  for 


118  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

taking  the  hatchet.  You're  a  little  lie-girl. 
They  don't  believe  anything  what  you  say. 
God  don't  believe  anything  what  you  say. 
He  saw  you  plain  as  could  be  when  you  cut 
your  foot,  and  heard  you  plain  as  could  be 
when  you  said  you  never  touched  the  hatch 
et.  And  there  he  is  up  in  heaven  think 
ing  about  you,  and  not  loving  you  at  all ! 
How  can  he?  He  don't  have  many  such 
naughty  girls  in  his  whole  world.  If  he 
did,  there'd  come  a  rain  and  rain  all  day, 
and  all  night,  for  as  much  as  six  weeks,  and 
drown  'em  all  up  'cept  eight  good  ones,  and 
one  of  'em's  Fel  Allen.  But  'twouldn't  be 
you,  for  you're  a  little  lie-girl,  and  you 
know  it  yourself." 

It  is  idle  to  say  that  children  do  not  suf 
fer.  I  believe  I  never  felt  keener  anguish 
than  that  which  thrilled  my  young  heart  as 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  119 

I  lay  on  mother's  bed,  and  quailed  at  the 
gaze  of  the  little  girl  on  the  clock  door. 

Still  no  one  seemed  to  remark  my  unhappi- 
ness,  and  I  have  never  heard  it  alluded  to 
since.  Children  keep  their  feelings  to  them 
selves  much  more  than  is  commonly  sup 
posed,  especially  proud  children.  And  of 
course  I  was  not  wretched  all  the  time  ;  I 
often  forgot  my  trouble  for  hours  together. 

But  it  was  not  till  long  after  I  had  left 
that  room  that  I  could  bring  my  rnind  to 
confess  my  sin.  I  took  it  for  granted  I  was 
ruined  for  life,  and  it  was  of  no  use  to  try 
to  be  good.  I  am  afraid  of  tiring  you, 
little  Fly  ;  but  I  want  you  to  hear  the  little 
verse  that  grandpa  taught  me  one  evening 
about  this  time,  as  I  sat  on  his  knee  : 

"If  we  confess  our  sins,  God  is  faithful 
and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins." 

I  see  you  remember  it,  Dotty.     Is  it  not 


120  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

sweet?  "God  is  faithful  and  just."  I  had 
always  before  repeated  my  verses  like  a 
parrot,  I  think ;  but  this  came  home  to  me. 
I  wondered  if  my  dreadful  sin  couldn't  be 
washed  out,  so  I  might  begin  over  again. 
I  knew  what  confess  meant ;  it  meant  to 
tell  God  you  were  sorry.  I  went  right  off 
and  told  him ;  and  then  I  went  and  told 
father,  and  I  found  he'd  been  waiting  all 
this  time  to  forgive  me.  It  was  just  won 
derful  !  My  heart  danced  right  up.  I 
could  look  people  in  the  face  again,  and 
wasn't  afraid  of  the  girl  on  the  clock  door, 
and  felt  as  peaceful  and  easy  as  if  I'd 
never  told  a  lie  in  my  life — only  I  hated  a 
lie  so.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  did  hate 
it. 

"I'll  never,  never,  never  tell   another  as 
long  as  I  breathe,"  whispered  I  to  the  blue 


THE    LITTLE    LIE-GIRL.  121 

hills,  and  the  sky,  and  the  fields,  and  the 
river.  And  I  knew  God  heard. 

I  suppose  it  is  a  little  remarkable,  Fly ; 
but  I  believe  this  really  was  my  last  delib 
erate  lie.  Children's  resolves  are  not  al 
ways  the  firmest  things  in  the  world,  and 
my  parents  did  not  know  how  much  mine 
was  good  for.  They  did  not  dream  it  had 
been  burnt  into  iny  soul  with  red-hot  an 
guish. 

I  have  always  been  glad,  very  glad,  I 
was  allowed  to  suffer  so  much,  and  learn 
something  of  the  preciousness  of  truth. 
It  is  a  diamond  with  a  white  light,  chil 
dren.  There  is  no  other  gem  so  clear, 
so  pure. 


122      AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    TANSY   CHEESE. 

You  are  not  to  suppose  from  this  that 
I  became  a  good  girl  the  very  next  day. 
No,  nor  the  day  after.  I  ceased  from  the 
wickedness  of  telling  lies,  just  as  I  had 
stopped  pilfering  sweetmeats.  This  was 
all ;  but  it  was  certainly  better  than  noth 
ing. 

I  was  soon  able  to  play  once  more, 
only  I  could  not  run  as  fast  as  usual. 
How  pleasant  it  was  out  of  doors,  after 
my  long  stay  in  the  house !  The  flowers 
and  trees  seeemed  glad  to  see  me,  and  I 
knew  the  hens  and  cows  were,  and  old 


THE   TANSY    CHEESE.  123 

Deacon  Pettibone,  the  horse.  I  resumed 
my  old  business  of  hunting  hens'  nests, 
though  it  was  some  weeks  before  I  dared 

o 

jump  off  the  scaffold,  and  it  seemed  odd 
enough  to  come  down  on  the  ladder. 

o 

"I'd  twice  rather  have  it  be  you  that 
had  cut  your  foot,  Fel  Allen,"  said  I, 
"  for  you  don't  want  to  run  and  jump  ;  and 
folks  that  don't  want  to,  might  just  as  well 
have  a  lame  foot  as  not." 

Fel  couldn't  quite  understand  that,  though 
it  was  as  clear  to  me  as  A  B  C.  And 
after  all  my  suffering,  she  wouldn't  own 
I  was  as  "delicate"  as  she.  I  didn't  like 
that. 

"  You  don't  remember  how  many  bad 
things  have  happened  to  me,"  said  I,  wav 
ing  my  thimble-finger,  which  had  lost  its 
tip-end  in  the  corn-sheller. 

"Well,  Ned's  going   to  give  you  a  gold 


124  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

thimble  to  pay  for  that,  and  I  suppose 
you're  glad  it's  cute  off,"  said  Fel,  who  had 
never  met  with  an  accident  in  her  life, 
and  was  naturally  ashamed  of  not  having  a 
single  scar  or  bruise  on  her  little  white 
body,  not  so  much  as  a  wart  or  pimple 
to  show  me.  I  could  not  help  feeling  my 
superiority  sometimes,  for  I  had  been  cut 
and  burnt,  and  smashed  and  scalded,  and 
bore  the  marks  of  it,  too. 

"  Well,  but  you  don't  h&ve  so  bad  head 
aches  as  me,"  said  Fel,  recovering  her  self- 
esteem.  "Your  mamma  never  has  to  put 
mustard  pace  on  your  feet,  and  squeeze  up 
burdock  leaves  and  tie  'em  on  your  head, 
now,  does  she?  " 

"  I  don'  know  but  she  did  when  I  was 
a  baby ;  I  never  heard  her  say,"  returned 
I,  coolly.  "Folks  don't  think  much  of 
headaches.  Polly  Whiting  has  'em  so  she 


SQUEEZING  HERDSGRASS.     Page  125. 


THE    TANSY    CHEESE.  125 

can't  but  just  see  out  of  her  eyes.  But 
that  isn't  like  hurting  a  place  on  you  so  bad 
your  mother  doesn't  class  do  it  up !  I 
guess  you'd  think  it  was  something  if  you 
cut  your  foot  most  in  two,  and  the  doctor 
had  to  come  and  stick  it  together !  " 

That  silenced  Fel,  and  I  had  the  last 
word,  as  usual. 

It  was  already  quite  late  in  the  summer. 
One  day  Fel  and  I  were  snuggled  in  the  three- 
cornered  seat  in  the  trees,  trying  to  squeeze 
herdsgrass,  to  see  which  would  be  married 
first,  when  Ruthie  came  out  at  the  side 
door  to  sweep  off  the  steps. 

"Maggie '11  be  pleased,"  said  she;  "but 
how  we  shall  miss  her  little  mill-clapper 
of  a  tongue." 

She  was  talking  to  'Eia,  who  was  going 
back  and  forth,  doing  something  in  the 
kitchen. 


126  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Yes,  we  shall  miss  her,"  said  'Eia ;  "but 
I  shan't  have  her  dresses  to  mend.  I  pity 
poor  cousin  Lydia  ;  she'll  think  —  " 

Then  'Ria's  voice  sounded  farther  off, 
and  I  did  not  hear  what  cousin  Lydia  would 
think. 

"  Put  your  head  down  here,  Fel  Allen. 
I've  found  out  something,"  whispered  I, 
starting  suddenly,  and  tearing  my  "tyer"  on 
a  nail. 

"I'm  going  to  cousin  Lydia  Tenney's." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  hear  'Ria  say  she 
shouldn't  have  to  mend  my  dresses?  That 
means  I  shan't  be  here,  of  course." 

"Perhaps  it  means  you'll  be  a  better  girl, 
and  not  tear  'em." 

"  O,  no,  it  don't.  'Ria  knows  better  'n 
that.  Didn't  you  hear  her  say  she  pitied 
poor  cousin  Lydia?  Well,  it's  because 


THE    TANSY    CHEESE.  127 

she'll  have   me   in   her  house;    and    that's 
why  'Kia  pities  her." 

"Then  I  wouldn't  go  to  her  house,  if 
'twill  make  her  feel  bad,"  said  Fel. 

WO,  I  know  what  makes  you  say  that  ? 
its  because  you  don't  want  me  to  go." 

"  Of  course  I  don't.  Who'd  I  have  to 
play  with?" 

"Lize  Jane  Bean." 

"H'm." 

"Well,  then,  there's  Dunie  Foster; 
you  think  she's  a  great  deal  nicer  'n 
me." 

"Now,  Madge  Parlin,  I  only  said  she 
kept  her  hair  smoother ;  that's  all  I  said." 

"Well,  there's  Abby  Gray  and  Sallie 
Gordon,"  added  I,  well  pleased  to  watch 
the  drooping  of  my  little  friend's  mouth. 
"You  can  play  with  them  while  I'm  gone. 


128  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

And   there's   your   own  brother   Gust,   that 
you  think  's  so  much  politer  'n  Ned." 

"  You  know  there's  nobody  I  like  to 
play  with  so  well  as  1  do  you,"  said  Pel, 
laying  her  cheek  against  mine,  and  we  sat 
a  while,  thinking  how  clearly  \ve  did  love 
each  other.  Then  we  saw  Abner  wheel 
ing  the  chaise  out  of  the  barn.  I  ran 
down  the  steps  from  the  tree,  and 
asked,  — 

"Is  anybody  going  anywhere,  Abner?" 
"Well,    yes;    I    believe    your   pa's  going 
over   yonder,"  said    he,  pointing  off  to  the 
hills. 

"  Anybody  —  anybody  going  with  him  ?  " 
"He   talks    of  taking   the   Deacon,"   said 
Abner,  dryly,  as  he  began  to  wrench  off  the 
wheels,  and  grease  them. 

"Madge,  Madge,  where  are  you?"  called 


THE   TANSY   CHEESE.  129 

'Ria,  from  the  side  door.  "Come  into  the 
house ;  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

It  was  just  as  I  expected.  I  was  going 
to  Bloomingdale  to-morrow.  The  news  had 
been  kept  from  rne  till  the  last  possible 
moment,  for  when  I  was  excited  about 
anything,  I  was  noisier  than  ever,  and  as 
Ruthie  said,  "stirred  up  the  house  dread- 
fully." 

Next  morning  father  tucked  me  into  the 
chaise,  behind  old  Deacon.  I  didn't  know 
why  it  was,  but  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
about  the  hatchet,  and  wondering  mother 
should  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  get 
such  a  naughty  girl  ready.  I  had  been 
told  I  might  stay  till  after  apple-gather 
ing,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  wanted  to  make 
Fel  as  lonesome  as  she  had  made  me  those 
two  weeks  she  spent  in  Boston.  I  had 
never  been  away  from  home  but  twice  to 


130  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

stay  over  night,  and  my  playmates  couldn't 
any  of  them  know  my  true  value,  of 
course. 

But  as  I  looked  at  the  dear  friends  on 
the  piazza,  growing  dearer  every  minute, 
especially  mother,  I  had  my  doubts  whether 
I  cared  much  about  cousin  Lydia's  apples. 

"  She'll  be  back  with  father,"  remarked 
Ned,  w  as  homesick  as  a  kitten." 

"Just  you  see  if  I  do!  " 

It  was  well  we  were  driving  away  just 
then,  for  my  brave  laugh  came  very  near 
ending  in  a  sob. 

"  I'm  on  business,"  said  father,  whipping 
up  the  Deacon,  "and  shall  come  back  to 
morrow  ;  but  you  can  do  as  you  please, 
Totty-wax —  you  can  come  with  me,  or  wait 
a  month  or  six  weeks,  and  come  with  cou 
sin  Lvdia." 


THE    TAtfSY   CHEESE.  131 

I  was  disposing,  privately,  of  a  stray 
tear,  and  could  not  answer. 

"Your  cousin  will  take  the  cars,"  said  he. 

"Take  the  cars!"  I  slipped  off  the  seat, 
and  stood  upright  in  my  ^surprise.  The 
railroad,  had  only  just  been  laid  to  one  cor 
ner  of  Willowbrook,  and  I  had  never  taken 
a  car  in  my  life ;  had  never  seen  one ; 
didn't  even  know  how  it  looked.  This  had 
been  a  great  mortification  to  me  ever  since 
Fel  went  to  Boston. 

"O,  father,"  cried  I,  whirling  round  and 
getting  caught  in  the  reins,  "  did  you  say  the 
cars?  I  s'posed  cousin  Lydia  would  come 
in  a  wagon,  and  I  didn't  know  's  I  cared 
about  staying.  Did  you  say  the  cars?" 

"There,  there;  don't  fall  out  over  the 
Deacon's  back.  Did  you  ever  hear  what  the 
water- wagtail  said  ?  " 

Then  I  knew  father  was  laughing  at  me. 


132  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

When  I  was  so  happy  I  couldn't  keep  still, 
he  often  asked  me  if  I  ever  heard  what  a 
small  bird,  called  the  water- wagtail,  said,  who 
thought  the  world  was  made  for  him  :  — 

"  'Twas  for  my  accommodation 

Nature  rose  when   I  was  born; 
Should  I   die,  the  whole  creation 
Back  to   nothing  would  return." 

That  was  what  the  little  bird  said.  But 
father  was  mistaken  this  time.  I  felt  re 
markably  humble  for  me.  I  had  been  think 
ing  so  much  about  the  hatchet  that  I  couldn't 
have  a  very  high  opinion  of  myself,  to  save 
my  life. 

It  was  twenty  miles  to  cousin  Lydia's. 
When  we  got  there  she  was  looking  for  us. 
I  knew  her  very  well,  but  had  never  been  at 
her  house  before.  It  was  a  pretty  white  cot 
tage,  with  woodbines  creeping  over  it,  and 


THE    TANSY   CHEESE.  133 

Boston  pinks  growing  by  the  front  door- 
stone.  There  was  a  red  barn  and  barnyard 
on  one  side  of  the  house,  and  a  woodshed  on 
the  other ;  and  in  front  of  the  porch  door, 
facing  the  street,  was  a  well,  with  an  old 
oaken  bucket,  hanging  on  a  pole.  I  had 
never  seen  a  well-sweep  before,  and  supposed 
it  must  be  far  nicer  than  a  pump. 

Cousin  Lydia  had  a  farmer  husband  in  a 
striped  frock,  and  a  beautiful  old  mother  in 
a  black  dress  and  double-frilled  cap.  Then 
there  were  her  husband's  two  sisters,  who 
lived  with  her,  and  a  cat  and  a  dog ;  but  not 
a  child  to  be  seen. 

I  didn't  feel  quite  clear  in  my  mind  about 
staying ;  but  cousin  Lydia  seemed  to  expect 
I  would,  and  showed. me  a  little  cheese-hoop, 
about  as  big  round  as  a  dinner-plate,  saying 
she  would  press  a  cheese  in  it  on  purpose  for 
me,  and  I  might  pick  pigweed  to  "green" 


134  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

it,  and  tansy  to  give  it  a  fine  taste.  So  I 
should  almost  make  the  cheese  myself;  what 
would  my  mother  say  to  that?  Then  there 
were  the  beehives,  which  were  filling  with 
honey,  and  some  late  chickens,  which  were 
going  to  chip  out  of  the  shell  in  a  week. 
Eemarkable  events,  every  one ;  but  it  was 
the  tansy  cheese  which  decided  me  at  last, 
and  I  told  father  he  might  go  without  me ;  I 
wanted  to  stay,  and  make  a  visit. 

It  was  not  till  he  was  fairly  out  of  sight 
that  I  remembered  what  a  long  visit  it  would 
be.  Why,  I  shouldn't  see  mother  for  as 
much  as  a  month  !  A  new  and  dreadful  feel 
ing  swept  over  me,  as  if  I  was  left  all  alone 
in  the  great  empty  world,  with  nothing  to 
comfort  me  as  long  as  I  lived. 

Samantha,  one  of  Mr.  Tenney's  sisters, 
found  me  an  hour  afterwards  sitting  beside  a 
chicken-coop,  crying  into  my  apron.  She 


THE    TANSY   CHEESE.  135 

asked  me  if  I  was  homesick.  I  thought  not ; 
I  only  wanted  to  see  my  mother,  and  I  felt 
bad  "  right  here,"  laying  my  hand  on  the  pit 
of  iny  stomach.  The  feeling  was  not  to  be 
described,  but  I  did  not  know  homesickness 
was  the  name  for  it. 

Samantha  consoled  me  as  well  as  she  could 
with  colored  beads  to  string,  and  a  barrel  of 
kittens  out  in  the  barn.  I  felt  a  little  better 
at  dinner  time,  for  the  dinner  was  very  nice ; 
but  my  spirits  were  still  low. 

Julia,  the  other  young  lady,  was,  not  very 
fond  of  little  girls,  and  had  no  box  of  trin- 
kets  as  Samantha  had,  or,  at  any  rate,  did 
not  show  any  to  me.  She  seemed  to  be  al 
ways  talking  privacy  with  her  sister,  or  with 
cousin  Lydia,  and  always  sending  me  out  of 
the  room.  Not  that  she  ever  told  me,  in  so 
many  words,  to  go  away  —  but  just  as  if  I 
didn't  know  what  she  meant ! 


136  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

w  Don't  you  want  to  go  out  in  the  barn  and 
hunt  for  eggs?"  said  she. 

No,  I  certainly  didn't.  If  I  had  wanted  to 
I  should  have  found  it  out  without  her  speak 
ing  of  it.  But  I  was  only  a  little  girl ;  so  I 
had  to  go,  and  couldn't  answer  back.  The 
neighbors'  children  were  few  and  far  be 
tween  ;  and  though  I  strolled  about  for  hours 
behind  cousin  Joseph  Tenney  and  the  hired 
man,  there  were  times  when  I  liked  to  see 
what  was  going  on  in  the  kitchen,,  and  it  was 
vexing  to  hear  Julia  say,  — 

"  If  I  was  a  little  girl  about  your  age,  I 
never  should  get  tired  of  looking  at  that 
speckled  bossy  out  in  the  barn.'* 

Indeed !     I  almost  wished  she  had  to  be 

/ 
fastened  into  the  stall  a  while,  just  to  see  if 

she   wouldn't    get    tired    of  ^  that    speckled 
bossy. 

But  when  the  time   came    to   make  my 


THE    TANSY   CHEESE.  137 

cheese,  I  had  a  right  to  stay  in  the  house. 
Cousin  Lydia  let  me  look  on,  and  see  it  all 
done.  First,  I  picked  the  pigweed  and  tan 
sy,  or  how  could  she  have  made  the  cheese? 
Then  she  strained  some  milk  into  a  pan, 
and  squeezed  the  green  juices  through  a  thin 
cloth.  After  that  she  put  in  a  little  rennet 
with  a  spoon. 

"There,"  said  she,  "isn't  that  a  pretty 
color?  Watch  it  a  few  minutes,  and  you 
will  see  it  grow  thick,  like  blanc-mange,  and 
that  will  be  curd." 

Then  she  made  some  white  curd  in  another 
pan,  without  any  green  juice.  After  the 
curd  "  came,"  it  was  very  interesting  to  cross 
it  off  with  a  pudding-stick,  and  this  she  let 
me  do  myself.  Next  morning  she  drained 
the  curd  in  a  cloth  over  a  cheese-basket,  and 
put  on  a  stone  to  press  out  the  whey.  When 


138  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

it  was  drained  dry  enough,  she  let  me  cut  it 
up  in  the  chopping-tray,  and  she  mixed  the 
two  curds  together,  the  green  and  the  white, 
salted  them,  and  put  them  in  that  cun 
ning  hoop,  and  then  set  the  hoop  in  the 
cheese-press,  turned  a  crank,  and  weighed  it 
down  with  a  flatirou.  There,  that  is  the 
way  to  make  a  cheese.  When  it  came  out 
of  the  press  it  was  a  perfect  little  beauty, 
white,  with  irregular  spots-  of  green,  like  the 
streaks  in  marble  cake.  I  knew  then  how 
that  greedy  Harry  felt,  in  the  story,  when 
his  mother  sent  him  a  plum  cake,  and  he 
couldn't  wait  for  a  knife,  but  "gnawed  it  like 
a  little  dog." 

Of  course  I  did  not  gnaw  the  cheese,  but 
I  did  want  to  have  it  cut  open,  to  see  if  it 
tasted  like  any  other  I  ever  ate.  But  cousin 
Lydia  covered  it  with  tissue  paper,  and  oiled 


THE    TANSY    CHEESE.  139 

it,  and  set  it  in  a  safe,  and  every  day  she 
oiled  it  again,  and  turned  it.  I  would  have 
spent  half  my  time  looking  at  it,  only  she 
said  I  must  not  open  the  dairy-room  door  to 
let  the  flies  in. 


140  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

w  WAXERATION." 

STILL,  in  spite  of  cheeses,  beehives,  bos 
sies,  and  kittens,  I  had  many  lonesome  hours, 
and  sometimes  cried  after  I  went  to  bed. 

Samantha  must  have  known  it,  for  I  slept 

% 
with  her;  I  was  afraid  to  sleep  alone. 

There  were  times  when  I  thought  I  would 
start  off  secretly,  and  go  home  on  foot.  I 
asked  the  hired  man  how  long  he  supposed 
it  would  take  a  little  girl  to  walk  to  Willow- 
brook,  and  what  were  the  chances  of  her 
getting  lost  if  she  should  try  it?  I  thought 
I  spoke  in  such  a  guarded  way  that  Seth 
would  not  have  the  least  idea  what  I  meant ; 


WAXERATIOX.  141 

but  he  must  have  been  very  quick-witted, 
for  he  understood  in  a  minute.  He  did  not 
let  me  know  it,  though,  and  only  answered 
coolly,  — 

"Wai,  I  should  think  now  it  would  take 
her  about  a  week's  steady  travel,  and  no 
knowing  but  she'd  starve  to  death  on  the 
road.  Why,  you  hain't  heerd  of  a  little  gal 
that  thinks  of  such  a  thing,  I  hope?" 

"No;  I  don't  see  many  little  girls,"  said 
I,  with  a  dismal  sigh  ;  "they  don't  have  any 
thing  here  but  bossies  and  horses." 

I  did  not  know,  till  Seth  nipped  it  in  the 
bud,  what  a  sweet  hope  I  had  been  cherish 
ing.  Should  I  truly  starve  to  death  if  I  took 
my  little  cheese  in  a  basket  on  my  arm,  and 
some  doughnuts  and  turn-overs?  But  no,  it 
would  be  stealing  to  take  things  out  of 
cousin  Lydia's  cupboard,  and  run  off  with 


142  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

them.  I  would  rather  stay  at  Bloomingdale 
and  suffer,  than  be  a  thief. 

I  know  now  that  Seth  told  cousin  Lydia 
what  I  said  to  him,  and  her  kind  heart  was 
touched.  I  am  sure  she  must  have  had  a 
hard  time  with  me,  for  she  knew  nothing 
about  children,  and  was  as  busy  as  she  could 
be  with  her  dairy  and  her  "fall  work."  I 
ought  not  to  have  been  so  unhappy.  Some 
children  at  that  age,  with  so  much  done  for 
their  amusement,  would  have  felt  perfectly 
contented ;  but  I  had  naturally  a  restless 
disposition,  and  wanted,  as  Ned  said,  "sum- 
pin  diffunt." 

Ah,  Horace  !  very  gallant  in  you  to  say  I 
have  "got  bravely  over  it."  Thank  you, 
dear;  I  hope  I  have,  to  some  degree;  still 
I  might  have  got  over  it  much  younger  if  I 
had  only  tried  a  little  harder.  A  child  of 
seven  is  old  enough  to  be  grateful  to  its 


WAXERATION.  143 

friends,  when  they  do  all  they  can  for  its 
comfort  and  pleasure. 

Cousin  Lydia  wrote  mother  about  my  state 
of  mind ;  and  it  troubled  her.  She  talked 
with  Madam  Allen,  who  was  always  full  of 
plans.  Madam  thought  a  minute,  and  then 
said,— 

"Poor  Marjie,  we  can't  have  her  home 
sick.  Do  you  suppose  she  would  like  to 
have  Ruphelle  go  there  and  stay  with  her?" 

Of  course  mother  knew  I  would  be  happy 
with  Ruphelle. 

Then  Madam  Allen  wished  mother  would 
please  write  cousin  Lydia,  and  ask  if  Fel 
might  go  to  Bloomingclale  a  few  weeks. 
She  hoped  the  mountain  air  would  be 
strengthening  to  the  dear  little  girl,  who 
seemed  rather  drooping. 

Cousin  Lydia  was  willing;  and  Madam 
Allen  sent  Ruphelle  by  cars,  with  a  gentle- 


144  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

man  and  lady  who  were  going  to  Boston. 
Not  a  word  was  said  to  me ;  and  when 
Seth  harnessed  the  horse  and  went  to  the 
station  to  meet  her,  I  supposed  he  was 
only  "  going  to  see  his  mother ; "  for  that 
was  what  he  always  said  when  I  asked  any 
questions.  It  was  about  three  miles  to  the 
flag  station,  and  I  believe  his  mother  lived 
somewhere  on  the  way. 

I  was  not  watching  for  him  to  come  back, 
or  thinking  anything  about  him,  when  I 
happened  to  look  out  of  the  window  and 
see  him  helping  a  little  girl  out  of  the 
wagon.  The  red  and  white  plaid  looked 
exactly  like  FePs  dress ;  and  as  the  little 
girl  turned  around,  there  were  the  soft, 
brown  eyes,  and  the  dark,  wavy  hair,  and 
the  lovely  pale  face  of  Fel  Allen  herself! 

I  never  expect  to  be  much  happier  till  I 
get  to  heaven  than  I  was  for  the  next  hour 


WAXEKATION.  145 

or  two.  I  danced  and  screamed,  and  laughed 
and  cried,  and  wondered  how  Fcl  could 
keep  so  calm,  when  we  hadn't  seen  each 
other  for  as  much  as  three  weeks. 

"I  don't  see  what's  the  matter  with  me," 
sobbed  I ;  "  I  never  was  so  glad  in  my  life  ; 
but  I  can't  help  a-crying!" 

Pel  was  not  one  of  the  kind  to  go  wild. 
She  usually  knew  what  she  was  about. 
Supper  was  ready,  and  she  sat  at  the  table, 
and  ate  honey  on  her  bread  and  butter,  as 
if  she  really  enjoyed  it ;  also  answered 
every  one  of  cousin  Lydia's  many  questions 
like  a  little  lady. 

I  had  no  appetite,  and  could  hardly  have 
told  what  my  name  was  if  any  one  had 
asked  me. 

But  from  that  time  my  homesickness  was 
gone.  I  took  my  little  friend  all  about  the 
farm,  which  was  a  very  nice  place,  only  I 
in 


146  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

had  never  thought  of  it  before,  and  showed 
her  the  speckled  bossy,  which  seemed  to 
have  grown  handsomer  all  in  one  night. 

"Here  are  some  black  currants,  Fel;  do 
you  like  'em?" 

«O,  yes." 

"  Why,  I  don't ;  I  just  despise  'em." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  'em  very  well,"  said 
Fel ;  for  after  our  long  separation  she  could 
not  bear  to  disagree  with  me  in  anything. 

"Cousin  Lydia,"  said  I,  very  soon  after 
Fel  came,  "may  we  tell  scare  stories  after 
we  go  to  bed?  She  wants  us  to." 

Cousin  Lydia  did  not  know  what  I  meant 
by  "  scare  stories." 

"  It's  all  the  awful  things  we  can  think  of," 
said  I,  eagerly.  "And  we  like  to,  for  we 
want  to  see  'four  hair  11  stand  out  straight." 

Cousin  Lydia  laughed,  and  said  "chil 
dren  were  perfect  curiosities." 


WAXERATION.  147 

"  It  makes  us  shiver  all  over.  It's  splen 
did,"  said  I. 

"Well,  you  may  try  it  this   once,"  said 

• 
cousin  Lydia,   "if    you'll    stop   talking   the 

moment   I   tap  on  the    wall." 

So,  as  soon  as  we  got  into  bed  we  be 
gan.  "You  tell  first,"  said  Ruphelle ;  "you 
can  tell  the  orfulest,  and  then  I'll  tell." 

"Mine'll  be  about  the  Big  Giant,"  said 
I,  clearing  my  throat. 

"  The  Big    Giant. 

"Once  upon  a  time  he  had  three  heads, 
and  he  roared  so  you  could  hear  him  a 
mile." 

"That  isn't  anything,"  said  Fel ;  "my 
hair  don't  stand  out  a  bit." 

"Why,  I  hadn't  but  just  begun.  You 
wait  and  see  what  comes  next.  Did  I 
say  the  Big  Giant  had  three  heads  ?  He 


148  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

had  sixteen.  And  every  one  of  'em  had 
three  mouths,  and  some  had  ten ;  and  they 
made  a  noise  when  he  chewed  grass  like 
like  thunder." 

"It  don't  scare  me  a  bit,"  said  Fel, 
stoutly. 

"Did  I  say  the  Big  Giant  ate  grass? 
He  ate  fire;  he  ate  live  coals,  the  liver 
the  better." 

"  I  should  have  thought  'twould  have 
burnt  him  all  up,"  said  Fel. 

"There,  miss,  you  needn't  pretend  not 
to  be  scared !  I'm  so  scared  myself  I 
can't  but  just  tell!  —  No,  it  didn't  burn 
him  up ;  it  came  out  at  his  great  big 
nose.  And  when  the  Big  Giant  walked 
along  the  streets  folks  ran  away,  for  he 
blazed  so.  And  there  wasn't  enough  water 
in  Willowbrook  to  put  him  out ! " 

"He  didn't   live  at    Willowbrook?" 


WAXERATION.  149 

"  O,  yes,  right  between  your  house  and 
my  house;  and  lives  there  now!" 

By  that  time  Fel  began  to  tremble  and 
creep  closer  to  me. 

"Tell  some  more,"  said  she,  laughing.  "It 
don't  scare  me  a  bit." 

And  I  told,  and  I  told.  There  was  no 
end  to  the  horrible  things  that  Big  Giant 
had  done,  was  doing,  or  was  going  to  do. 

"Does  your  hair  stand  up,  Fel?"' 

"No  ;  feel  and  see  if  it  does.  But  there's 
a  creepy  feeling  goes  over  me ;  don't  it 
over  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  highly  excited.  "Got 
your  eyes  shut,  Fel  ?  " 

"Yes,  shut  up    tight." 

"Open  'em,"  said  I,  solemnly;  "for  how 
do  you  know  but  that  Big  Giant's  got 
into  this  room?  Can't  you  see  the  fire 
coming  out  of  his  nose?" 


150  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Fell    couldn't,    exactly. 

w  Get  out,"  said  I,  "  and  get  the  wash 
bowl  and  pitcher,  and  let's  throw  it  at  him 
kersplash." 

"I  dassent,"  said   Fel,   faintly. 

"Nor   I   dassent   neither." 

By  that  time  I  was  out  of  bed,  much 
more  frightened  than  Fel  was,  and  calling 
"  Cousin  Lydia,"  as  loud  as  I  could  shout. 
She  came  in  in  great  surprise,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  she  could  succeed  in  calm 
ing  us.  I  remember  how  heartily  she  laugh 
ed,  and  how  my  teeth  chattered.  I  actu 
ally  had  to  be  wrapped  in  a  blanket  and 
dosed  with  ginger  tea.  I  wonder  how 
many  times  cousin  Lydia  said,  — 

"  Well,  children  ARE  perfect   curiosities." 

We  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing  as 
spending  the  night  alone  after  all  this,  and 


WAXERATION.  151 

Samantha  was  obliged  to  get  into  our  bed 
and  sleep  in  the  middle.  Cousin  Lydia 
said  we  made  too  much  hard  work  for 
the  family  by  telling  "  scare  stories,"  and 
we  must  not  do  it  again  while  we  staid 
at  her  house. 

"I  have  just  found  out,  Marjie,  why  it 
is  that  you  are  afraid  to  sleep  alone,"  said 
she ;  "  it  is  because  you  allow  yourself  to 
think  about  such  frightful  things.  Is  it 
iiot  so?" 

"Yes'rn,"  said  I,  quivering  in  the  blanket. 

"  Well,  child,  you  must  stop  it  at  once ; 
it  is  a-  very  foolish  habit,  and  may  grow 
upon  you.  Never  think  of  dreadful  things. 
Say  your  little  prayer,  asking  God  to  take 
care  of  you,  and  then  lie  down  in  peace, 
for  he  will  certainly  do  it.  Ruphelle,  are 
you  ever  afraid?" 

"No'm,    only     when    I'm   with    Marjie; 


152  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

but  I  like  to  hear  her  tell  things ;  I  ask 
her  to." 

Fel  often  said  she  had  beautiful  thoughts 
about  angels  after  she  went  to  bed,  and 
dreamed  that  they  came  and  stood  by  her 
pillow. 

Ah,  that  was  no  common  child ;  she  lived 
very  near  the  gates  of  heaven.  Strange  I 
could  have  associated  with  her  so  much, 
and  still  have  "been  so  full  of  wrong  de 
sires  and  naughty  actions ! 

Julia  Tenney,  who  was  not  very  fond  of 
children,  certainly  not  of  me,  took  a  decided 
fancy  to  Fel  the  moment  she  saw  her.  I 
soon  found  this  out,  for  she  did  not  try 
to  conceal  it,  and  said  more  than  once 
that  "that  child  was  too  good  for  this 
world."  I  thought  everybody  liked  her 
better  than  me,  from  Miss  Julia  down  to 
the  cat.  I  did  not  consider  this  at  all 


WAXERATION.  153 

strange ;  only  I  longed  to  do  something  to 
show  myself  worthy  of  praise,  as  well  as 
she. 

There  was  a  panic  at  that  time  about 
small-pox,  and  the  doctor  came  one  day 
to  vaccinate  everybody  in  the  house.  We 
children  looked  on  with  great  interest  to 
see  the  lancet  make  a  scratch  in  cousin 
Lydia's  arm,  and  then  in  Miss  Saman- 
tha's,  and  Miss  Julia's. 

9 

"Now  for  the  little  folks,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  and  drew  Fel  along  to  him ;  but  she 
broke  away  in  great  alarm,  and  began  to 
cry.  "Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  turn 
ing  to  me,  "here's  a  little  lady  that  will 
come  right  up,  I  know  she  will ;  she  won't 
mind  such  a  thing  as  a  prick  of  a  needle." 

No,  I  really  didn't  mind  it ;  why  should 
I,  when  I  had  been  gashed  and  slashed 
all  my  life  ?  So  I  walked  up  very  quickly 


154  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

to  show  my  courage.  I  guessed  they 
wouldn't  laugh  about  my  Big  Giant  now ! 
I  rolled  back  my  sleeve  with  an  air  of 
triumph,  and  looked  down  on  Fel,  who 
shrank  into  a  corner.  Everybody  was  sur 
prised,  and  said,  "Well  done!"  and  hoped 
I  wasn't  all  the  brave  child  there  was  in 
the  house. 

I  walked  on  thrones,  I  assure  you ;  for 
there  was  Fel  crying,  and  begging  to  wait 
till  after  dinner.  Why,  she  hadn't  any 
more  courage  than  a  chicken.  I  was 
ashamed  of  her.  The  doctor  said  he  would 
wait  till  after  dinner  if  she  would  surely 
have  it  done  then. 

"O,  you  little  scare-girl!"  said  I,  as  he 
walked  out  to  talk  with  cousin  Joseph,  and 
we  two  children  were  left  alone  in  the  room. 

The  doctor  had  laid  his  lancet  and  the 
little  quill  of  vaccine  matter  on  the  table, 


WAXERATION.  155 

having  no  thought,  I  suppose,  that  such 
small  children  as  we  would  dare  touch 
them. 

"I  can  waxerate  as  well  as  he  can," 
said  I,  taking  up  the  lancet,  "for  I 
"watched  him.  Push  up  your  sleeve,  Fel, 
and  I'll  waxerate  you,  and  then  when  the 
doctor  does  it,  you'll  get  used  to  it,  you 
know." 

"Don't  you,  don't  you  touch  that  sharp 
thing,  Madge  Parlin." 

"  Poh !  do  you  think  I'm  a  little  scare- 
girl  like  you?"  returned  I,  proudly,  for 
my  little  head  was  quite  turned  with  flat 
tery.  "He  didn't  say  folks  musn't  touch 
it,  did  he,  Miss  Fel?  It's  just  like  a 
needle ;  and  who's  afraid  of  a  needle  but 
you?  I'll  waxerate  me,  if  you  don't  dast. 
Just  you  look!  When  I've  done  it  three 
times  to  me,  will  you  let  me  do  it  to  you?" 


156  AUNT  MADGE'S  STOKY. 

Fel  wouldn't  promise,  but  I  went  boldly 
to  work.  Let  me  count  the  scars  —  yes, 
twenty  scratches  I  made  above  my  elbow, 
never  forgetting  the  vaccine,  saying,  as  I 
stopped  to  take  breath,  — 

"  Ready  now,  Fel  ?  " 

She  never  was  ready,  but  she  stood  look 
ing  on  with  such  meekness  and  awe,  that  I 
was  just  as  well  satisfied.  After  the  doctor 
was  gone,  and  she  was  in  cousin  Lydia's  lap, 
quite  overcome  by  the  fright  of  "waxera- 
tion,"  I  told  what  I  had  done,  expecting  to 
be  praised. 

w  Why,  Maggie  !  "  said  cousin  Lydia,  really 
shocked,  "  what  will  you  do  next?  It  was 
very,  very  wrong  for  you  to  meddle  with  the 
doctor's  lancet." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Miss  Julia,  "I  guess 
she'll  be  a  sick  enough  child  when  it 
'  takes."' 


WAXERATION.  157 

I  did  not  understand  that,  but  I  saw  I  had 
sunk  again  in  everybody's  esteem.  And  that 
very  afternoon  Miss  Julia  allowed  Fel,  who 
had  been  such  a  coward,  to  dress  up  in  her 
bracelets,  rings,  pin,  and  even  her  gold 
watch,  only  "  she  must  be  sure  and  not  let 
Maggie  touch  them." 

Of  course  I  see  now  what  a  heedless 
child  I  was,  and  don't  wonder  Miss  Julia 
wished  to  preserve  her  ornaments  from  my 
fingers ;  still  she  ought  not  to  have  given 
them  to  Fel  before  my  very  eyes.  I  thought 
it  was  hard,  after  scratching  myself  so  un 
mercifully,  not  to  have  either  glory  or 
kisses,  or  even  a  bosom-pin  to  wear  half 
an  hour.  My  arm  smarted,  and  I  felt 
cross.  As  Miss  Julia  went  out  of  the 
room  she  patted  Fel's  head,  but  took  no 
notice  of  me,  and  cousin  Lydia  did  the 


158  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

very  same  thing  two  minutes  afterwards. 
It  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

"  Ho,  little  borrow-girl"  said  I  to  Pel, 
"got  a  gold  watch,  too!  'Fore  I'd  wear 
Other  folks's  things  !  I  don't  wear  a  single 
one  thing  on  me  but  b'longs  to  me ;  you 
may  count  'em  and  see  !  " 

It  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  let  her  alone ; 
but  such  was  the  sweetness  of  nature  in 
that  dear  little  girl  that  she  loved  me 
through  everything. 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  to  go  out  doors 
and  play  with  me,"  said  I ;  ff  and  if  you  do, 
you'd  better  take  off  your  borrowed  watch  !  " 

Fel  did  not  answer,  but  tucked  the  watch 
into  her  bosom ;  and  we  went  out  in  no 
very  pleasant  mood. 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  159 


CHAPTER    X. 


SAMANTHA  and  Julia  were  gone  to  a  neigh- 
,bor's  that  afternoon,  and  cousin  Lydia  was 
filling  a  husk-bed  in  the  barn.  There  was 
no  one  at  home  but  lame  and  half-blind 
grandma  Tenney. 

"I  don't  care  if  they  are  gone,  for  they 
all  think  I'm  a  naughty,  bad  girl,"  thought 
I.  "O,  why  don't  they  love  me?  My 
mamma  loves  me,  and  hugs  me  every  day 
when  I'm  home.'' 

I  walked  along  to  the  well,  my  eyes  half- 
blinded  by  tears.  That  well-sweep  had  al- 
*  The  following  is  a  true  incident. 


160  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

ways  fascinated  me,  and  I  had  been  allowed 
to  play  with  it  freely ;  but  lately  cousin  Jo 
seph  had  observed  that  the  curb,  or  frame 
work  round  the  mouth  of  the  well,  was  out 
of  order;  the  boards  were  old,  and  the  nails 
were  loosened ;  he  should  put  on  new  boards 
as  soon  as  he  could  stop  ;  but  until  he  did 
so,  I  must  let  it  alone.  Would  I  remem 
ber?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  at  the  same  time  think 
ing  in  this  wise  :  w  Why,  I  drawed  water 
day  before  yes'day,  and  he  didn't  say  the. 
boards  were  old.  How  could  they  grow  old 
in  one  day?" 

Still  I  fully  intended  to  obey.  I  forgot 
myself  when  I  said,  — 

"  Fel,  le's  do  a  washing,  and  wash  our  dol 
lies' clo'es.  I'll  go  get  a  little  tinpail  to  draw 
water  with." 

For  I  could  not  lift  the  bucket. 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  161 

w  Well,"  said  she  ;  "  and  I'll  go  get  a  cake 
o'  soap." 

She  had  heard  nothing  about  the  well- 
curb,  and  did  not  know  we  were  doing 
wrong  to  draw  water.  She  enjoyed  swing 
ing  the  pole  just  as  much  as  I  did,  and  we 
soon  forgot  our  slight  disagreement  as  we 
watched  the  little  pail  drop  slowly  into  the 
well. 

"There  are  stars  down  there,"  said  I,  "for 
I  saw  'em  once  ;  they  say  it's  stars,  but  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  pieces  of  gold  — 
should  you  ?  " 

I  was  letting  the  pail  down  as  I  spoke,  and 
Fel  was  leaning  against  the  curb,  peeping 
into  the  well. 

"O,  I  forgot,"  cried  I;  "cousin  Joseph 
said  —  " 

But  even  before  I  had  finished  the  sen- 
11 


162  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

tence,  the  rotten  boards  gave  way,  and  Fel 
pitched  suddenly  forward  into  the  well ! 

My  brain  reeled ;  but  next  moment  my 
reason  —  all  I  ever  had  and  more  too  — 
came  to  my  aid.  I  can't  account  for  it,  but 
I  felt  as  strong  and  brave  as  a  little  woman, 
and  called  out,  — 

"Take  hold  of  the  pole,  Fel!  take  hold 
of  the  pole  !  " 

I  don't  know  whether  she  heard  me 
or  not,  for  her  screams  were  coming  up 
hoarse  and  hollow  from  the  watery  depths. 
All  I  know  is,  she  did  put  out  both  her  little 
hands,  and  clutch  that  short  pole.  The  ten- 
quart  pail  was  dangling  from  the  end  of  the 
pole,  within  two  feet  of  the  water. 

What  was  I  to  do?  I  could  draw  up  the 
little  tin  pail,  but  not  such  a  heavy  weight  as 
Fel.  My  hope  was  that  I  might  keep  her 
above  water  a  while,  and  as  long  as  I  could, 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  163 

of  course  she  would  not  drown.  It  was  a 
wise  thought,  and  showed  great  presence  of 
mind  in  a  child  of  my  age.  I  am  glad  I  have 
this  one  redeeming  fact  to  tell  of  myself  — 
I,  who  ran  wild  at  the  silly  story  of  a  make- 
believe  Big  Giant ! 

Yes,  I  held  up  that  long  pole  with  all  the 
might  of  my  little  arms,  crying  all  the  while 
to  Seth  in  the  barn,  — 

"  Come  quick  !  come  quick  !  " 

It  was  just  as  much  as  I  could  do.  I  am 
sure  strength  must  have  been  granted  me  for 
the  task.  For  a  long  while,  or  what  seemed 
to  me  a  long  while,  nobody  heard.  Seth 
was  making  a  great  noise  with  his  flail,  and 
if  my  shout  reached  his  ears  he  only  thought 
it  child's  play ;  but  when  it  kept  on  and  on, 
so  shrill  and  so  full  of  distress,  he  dropped 
his  flail  at  last  and  ran. 


164  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

Not  a  moment  too  soon  ;  my  little  strength 
was  giving  out. 

"Jethro!  what's  this?"  cried  he,  and 
caught  the  pole  from  my  hand.  "Well, 
you're  a  good  one  !  Don't  be  scared,  little 
dear."  That  was  to  Fel.  "Hold  on  tight, 
and  I'll  fetch  you  up  in  a  jiffy." 

She  did  hold  on ;  stupefied  as  she  was,  she 
still  had  sense  enough  to  cling  to  the  pole. 

"There,  there,  that's  a  lady!  Both  arms 
round  my  neck  !  Up  she  comes  !  " 

By  that  time  cousin  Lydia  was  on  the 
spot,  looking  ashy  white,  and  Seth,  with  Fel 
in  his  arms,  was  rocking  her  back  and  forth 
like  a  baby,  and  saying,  "There,  there,  little 
girlie,  don't  cry." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  cousin 
Lydia  ;  "  the  child's  alive  !  the  child's  alive  !  " 

"Yes,  and  this  Marjie  here  is  a  good  one," 
said  Seth,  pointing  to  me ;  "  she's  got  the 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  165 

right  stuff  in  her.  I  never  saw  a  young 
one  of  that  age  do  anything  so  complete  in 
my  life." 

I  cried  then ;  it  was  the  first  time  I  could 
stop  to  cry.  Cousin  Lydia  put  her  arms 
round  me,  and  kissed  me ;  and  that  kiss 
was  sweet  to  my  soul. 

Seth  carried  Fel  into  the  house.  She 
was  trembling  and  sobbing  violently,  and  did 
not  seem  at  first  to  understand  much  that 
was  said  to  her.  Cousin  Lydia  rubbed 
her,  and  gave  her  some  cordial  to  drink,  and 
I  looked  on,  half  proud  and  half  ashamed. 
Seth  kept  saying  there  were  five  feet  of 
water  in  the  well,  and  if  I  hadn't  held  Fel 
up,  she  must  have  drowned  before  anybody 
could  get  to  her.  I  knew  I  had  been  very 
brave,  and  had  saved  FeFs  life.  I  knew 
it  before  Seth  said  so.  But  who  drowned 
her  in  the  first  place?  I  expected  every 


166  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

minute  cousin  Lydia  would  ask  that  ques 
tion  ;  but  she  didn't ;  she  never  seemed  to 
think  of  it. 

When  the  young  ladies  came  home,  Miss 
Julia  took  me  in  her  lap,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  Marjery,  you're  a  smart  child ; 
there's  no  doubt  about  it  —  a  very  smart 
child." 

Just  think  of  that  from  Miss  Julia !  It 
wouldn't  have  been  much  from  Miss  Sa- 
niantha,  for  she  had  a  soft  way  with  her; 
but  Miss  Julia !  Why,  it  puffed  me  out, 
and  puffed  me  out,  till  there  was  about  as 
much  substance  to  me  as  there  is  to  a  great 
hollow  soap-bubble. 

"Yes,"  said  cousin  Joseph,  in  his  slow 
way,  "Marjery  is  smart  enough,  but  she 
ought  to  be  very  smart  to  make  up  for  her 
heedlessness." 

There,   he  had   pricked   the   bubble   that 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  167 

And  it  was  the  last  time  Julia  admired 
me ;  for  she  happened  to  think  just  then  of 
her  gold  watch.  It  was  not  on  Fel's  neck; 
it  had  gone  into  the  well  where  the  stars 
were.  Seth  got  it  out,  but  it  was  battered 
and  bruised,  and  something  had  happened 
to  the  inside  of  it,  so  it  wouldn't  tick. 

Miss  Julia  never  took  me  in  her  lap 
again ;  but  she  liked  Fel  as  well  as  ever. 
She  said  Fel  was  not  at  all  to  blame.  I 
knew  she  wasn't,  and  somehow,  after  that 
dreadful  affair,  I  was  willing  people  should 
love  Fel  better  than  me.  I  had  been  fairly 
frightened  out  of  my  crossness  to  her.  O, 
what  if  I  had  drowned  her?  Every  time  I 
wanted  to  snub  her  I  thought  of  that,  and 
stopped.  I  suppose  I  put  my  arms  round 
her  neck  fifty  times,  and  asked,  "Do  you 
love  me  jus  the  same  as  if  I  hadn't  drowned 
you?" 


168  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

And  she  said  "  Yes,"  every  time,  the  pre 
cious  darling! 

I  had  a  very  lame  arm  not  long  after 
this ;  it  almost  threw  me  into  a  fever.  I 
was  ashamed  to  have  that  doctor  come,  for 
they  had  told  me  what  was  the  matter.  It 
has  always  been  my  luck,  children,  if  I  ever 
tried  to  show  off,  to  get  nicely  paid  for  it ! 

Now  I  think  of  it,  Dotty,  how  easily  Fel 
could  have  turned  upon  me  at  this  time, 
and  said,  trHo,  little  meddle-girl !  Got  a 
sore  arm,  too  !  " 

But  you  may  be  sure  she  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing.  It  grieved  her  to  see  me 
lie  in  bed,  and  toss  about  with  pain.  She 
sat  beside  me,  and  patted  my  cheeks  with 
her  little,  soft  hands,  and  sometimes  read 
to  me,  from  a  Sabbath  school  book,  about 
a  good  girl,  named  Mary  Lothrop,  — she 
could  read  as  well  as  most  grown  people, 


THE  .CHILD'S  ALIVE.  169 

for  she  really  was  a  remarkable  child,  — 
but  I  didn't  like  to  hear  about  Mary  Lo- 
throp,  and  begged  her  to  stop. 

"  She's  too  tremendous  good,7'  said  I.  "  It 
killed  her  to  be  so  good,  and  I'm  afraid  —  " 

I  believe  I  never  told  Pel  what  I  was 
afraid  of;  but  it  was,  that  she  was  "too 
tremendous  good  "  herself,  and  would  "  die 
little,"  as  Mary  Lothrop  did.  I  thought 
she  seemed  like  Mary;  and  hadn't  Miss 
Julia  said  she  wras  too  good  for  this  world  ? 
O,  what  if  God  should  want  her  up  iu 
heaven?  I  had  thought  of  this  before;  but 
if  I  had  really  believed  it,  I  should  all 
along  have  treated  her  very  differently.  We 
should  none  of  us  speak  unkindly  if  we 
believed  our  friends  were  soon  going  away 
from  us,  out  of  this  world.  What  would 
I  give  now  if  I  had  never  called  the  tears 
into  that  child's  gentle  eyes! 


170  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

My  arm  got  well,  and  the  next  thing  that 
happened  was  a  letter  from  home  —  to  us 
two  little  chickens,  Fel  and  me  both.  Seth 
brought  it  from  the  "post-ovviz,"  directed 
to  Miss  Euphelle  Allen  and  Miss  Margaret 
Parlin,  care  of  Joseph  Tenney,  Esq.  Here 
it  lies  in  my  writing-desk,  almost  as  yellow 
as  gold,  and  quite  as  precious.  How  many 
times  do  you  suppose  we  little  girls  read 
it  and  kissed  it?  How  many  times  do  you 
suppose  we  went  to  sleep  with  it  under  our 
pillows?  We  took  turns  doing  that,  and 
thought  it  brought  us  pleasant  dreams. 

Her  mother  wrote  one  page  of  the  letter, 
and  my  mother  another;  'Eia  a  few  lines, 
and  Ned  these  words,  in  a  round  hand :  — 

"  DEAR  SISTER  :  I  suppose  you  want  to 
hear  all  about  our  house  and  barn.  I  went 
to  Gus  Allen's  party.  We  trained,  and  a 
pretty  set  of  fellows  we  were." 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  171 

That  was  all  he  told  about  our  house  and 
barn,  and  he  did  not  sign  his  name.  Per 
haps  he  would  have  said  more  after  rest 
ing  a  while ;  but  Miss  Eubie  saved  him  the 
trouble,  and  ended  the  letter,  by  inviting 
"  you  darlings,"  —  Fel  and  me,  —  to  her 
wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  in  a  few 
weeks. 

We  had  a  little  waltzing  to  do  then !  A 
wedding !  We  danced  right  and  left,  with 
that  letter  under  our  feet. 

"I  should  think  you'd  better  read  on, 
and  see  what  the  man's  name  is,  you  little 
Flutter-budgets,"  said  cousin  Joseph,  laugh 
ing  at  us. 

We  hadn't  thought  of  that.  We  looked, 
and  found  it  was  uncle  John !  Another 
surprise.  It  was  a  new  idea  to  both  of  us, 
that  a  man  who  had  had  one  wife  should 
ever  have  another.  We  remembered  aunt 
Persis,  who  wanted  to  steam  Fel. 


172  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"And  she  died  years,  and  years,  and 
years  ago." 

"About  eleven  months,"  said  cousin 
Lydia.  Your  uncle  John  is  obliged  to  go 
to  England  this  fall,  and  wants  to  take  Zed; 
and  I  am  very  glad  Miss  Kubie  is  willing 
to  be  Zed's  mother,  and  will  go  with  them." 

"How  can  she  be  his  mother?"  said  I. 
"She's  his  auntie." 

But  we  didn't  care  about  the  relation 
ship,  Fel  and  I;  all  we  cared  about  was  the 
wedding.  And  I  did  hope  I  should  have  a 
string  of  wax  beads  to  wear  on  my  neck. 

Here  is  our  reply  to  the  letter.  (The 
words  in  Italics  are  Fel's.) 

"  DEAR  LITTLE  MOTHERS  :  We  thought 
we  would  write  to  you.  We  are  glad  we 
shall  go  to  the  wedding.  Do  you  think  you 
can  buy  me  some  wax  beeds?  We  want 


THE  CHILD'S  ALIVE.  173 

to  see  you  very  much.     But  I  want  the  wax 
beeds,  too.     Fel  said  a  prayer  for  my  sick 
ness.     I  think  she  is  a  very  pias  girl.     The 
cow  is  dead,  &c.,  &  ect.     So  good  by. 
"From  MAJ  and  RUPHELLE." 


174  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    FIRST    CAR   RIDE. 

IT  seemed  as  if  cousin  Lydia  never  would 
get  ready  to  start.  Ever  since  the  letter 
from  our  mammas,  Fel  and  I  had  been  sure 
we  were  wanted  at  home ;  but  there  was  no 
end  to  the  things  cousin  Lydia  had  to  do, 
and  so  far  as  we  could  see,  Miss  Samantha 
and  Miss  Julia  didn't  help  her  much.  We 
dared  not  say  this,  however;  we  laid  it 
away  in  our  minds,  with  twenty  other  things 
we  meant  to  tell  our  mothers  when  we  got 
home. 

My  great  consolation  while  waiting  was 
a  Maltese  kitten  with  white  toes,  and  eyes 


THE    FIRST   CAR   RIDE.  175 

the  color  of  blue  clay ;  and  when,  at  last, 
the  joyful  time  came  for  going  to  Willow- 
brook,  I  begged  to  take  that  kitty  with  us. 
Miss  Julia  said,  "Nonsense!"  But  cousin 
Lydia  was  really  a  sensible  woman;  for 
what  did  she  do  but  butter  Silvertoe's  paws, 
and  tie  her  into  an  egg-basket. 

"  But  you  must  take  care  of  her  yourself, 
Maggie ;  I  shall  have  my  hands  full  with 
you,  and  Euphelle,  and  the  baggage." 

Kitty  behaved  beautifully  at  first;  but 
presently  the  rough  mountain  roads  began 
to  jar  upon  her  nerves,  I  think;  for  by  the 
time  the  stage  reached  the  station,  she  was 
scratching  and  mewing  at  such  a  rate  that  I 
was  ashamed  of  her.  I  lagged  behind,  so 
cousin  shouldn't  hear. 

And  was  this  the  depot?  A  jail,  I  should 
say.  Such  a  wicked  man  staring  through 


176  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

the  hole  in  the  wall !  Wonder  what  he  was 
put  in  for? 

"The  ticket-master,  that  is,"  said  cousin 
Lydia,  smiling  at  me,  though  I  hoped  she 
couldn't  see  what  I  had  been  thinking. 

Then  she  bought  the  tickets ;  but  she 
wouldn't  let  Fel  or  me  keep  ours.  She  said 
the  kitty  was  all  I  could  manage.  So  I 
should  think ! 

We  heard  a  shriek  like  niy  Big  Giant.  It 
frightened  me  dreadfully ;  I  began  to  think 
there  was  such  a  man.  No  wonder  kitty 
jumped.  Next  moment  some  yellow  things 
came  tearing  along.  Then  I  knew  it  was 
the  cars. 

"Come, "said  cousin  Lydia,  climbing  the 
steps. 

Well,  I  intended  to  come.  My  foot  was 
just  a  little  stiff,  but  I  was  hurrying  as  fast 
as  I  could,  when  up  sprang  the  cover  of 


THE   FIRST    CAR   RIDE.  177 

the  basket,  and  out  popped  the  kitty.  Of 
course,  I  wasn't  going  without  Silvertoes. 
•  She  scampered  round  the  end  of  the  depot, 
and  I  ran  after  her.  It  was  of  no  use ;  she 
dropped  into  a  hole.  I  couldn't  have  been 
gone  half  a  minute  ;  but  those  yellow  things 
took  that  time  to  whisk  off.  I  ran  the 
whole  length  of  the  platform,  calling, 
"Whoa!"  but  they  never  stopped. 

The  black-whiskered  man  had  come  out 
of  his  cell,  and  was  locking  the  depot 
door. 

"O,  won't  you  stop  that  railroad?  Please, 
for  pity's  sake  !  " 

The  man  made  no  reply ;  only  shut  one 
eye  and  whistled.  I  danced  and  screamed. 
There  were  those  things  puffing  out  of 
breath,  and  determined  not  to  stop. 

r?  'Tain't  no  use  to  make  a  rumpus.  The 
Cars  won't  take  back  tracks  for  nobody." 


178  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

I  thought  he  didn't  understand. 

"Why,  my  cousin  Lydia  bought  me  a 
ticket,  sir,  right  out  of  that  hole.  Don't 
you  know  she  did  ?  And  that  railroad  went 
off  and  left  me.  I  was  getting  in  in  a 
minute,  as  soon  as  I  found  my  kitty ! " 

"O,  that's  it,  hey?  Well,  you  see  this 
ere's  only  a  flag-station,  and  they  don't 
stop  for  cats." 

I  began  to  cry.  The  man  patted  me  on 
the  back,  just  as  if  I  had  a  fish-bone  in  my 
throat,  and  called  me  ff  Poor  sissy."  It  made 
me  very  angry  —  seven  whole  years  old  — 
to  be  called  sissy !  I  wiped  my  eyes  at 
once,  and  told  him  decidedly  that  I  thought 
my  cousin  would  make  the  "  driver "  come 
back  for  me. 

The  man  whistled  harder.  This  caused 
me  to  feel  a  little  like  a  dog  that  has  lost 
his  master ;  and  I  felt  so  all  the  more  when 


THE   FIRST   CAR  RIDE.  179 

the  man  pointed  his  finger  at  me  and  told 
me  to  follow  him,  and  he  would  try  to  get 
me  "  put  up  "  for  the  night.  But  not  know 
ing  anything  better  to  do,  I  trudged  after 
him  with  my  empty  basket,  forgetting  all 
about  the  kitten. 

We  crossed  the  road,  and  went  through 
a  long  yard  where  clothes  were  drying,  till 
we  came  to  a  little  brown  house.  Near  the 
open  door  of  the  porch  sat  a  woman  beating 
eggs  in  a  yellow  pudding-dish.  She -had  a 
skin  somewhat  the  color  of  leather,  and 
wore  a  leather-colored  dress,  gold  beads,  a 
brass-topped  comb,  and  gold  ear-drops,  like 
upside  down  exclamation  points.  I  thought 
she  looked  a  little  like  a  sheepskin  book 
father  had  in  a  gilt  binding. 

"  This  little  creeter  got  left  by  the  train, 
Harr'et ;  I  don't  see  but  we  shall  have  to  eat 
and  sleep  her.  What  say?" 


180  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

w  Eat  and  sleep  me  !  "  I  took  a  step  back 
ward.  Of  course  they  did  not  mean  what 
they  said ;  but  I  thought  joking  on  this 
occasion  was  in  very  poor  taste. 

"Got    left   over?     Poor  little    dear!" 

The  woman  stopped  her  work  to  pity 
me,  and  drops  of  egg  dripped  from  the 
fork-tines  like  yellow  tears.  I  fell  to  cry 
ing  then. 

"It  seems  she's  some  related  to  Captain 
Tenney's  folks,"  said  the  whistling  man, 
ending  with  another  love-pat,  and  "Poor 
Sissy  ! " 

But  even  those  insulting  words  could 
not  stop  my  crying  this  time. 

"Leave  her  to  me,  Peter,"  said  the  woman. 
"  Most  likely  she's  afraid  of  men  folks." 

The  man  went  away^  to  my  great  re 
lief,  and  she  took  my  bonnet  and  cloak, 
and  then  made  me  tell  her  all  about  my 


THE   FIRST   CAR   RIDE.  181 

trials,  while  she  beat  time  with  her  fork. 
My  mouth  once  open,  I  talked  steadily, 
giving  the  complete  history  of  my  life- 
bet  ween  my  sobs,  —  only  leaving  out  my 
lie  about  the  hatchet. 

"Something  cut  my  foot  and  I  go  a  lit 
tle  lame,  or  I  could  have  catched  that 

« 

kitty,  —  she  has  white  ^o?^.  But  does  the 
railroad  have  any  right  to  run  off  and  leave 
folks  that's  bought  tickets?" 

"Never  mind,  dear,  you're  welcome  to 
stay  over  with  us.  Brother  Peter  and  I 
never  calculate  to  turn  folks  away  while 
we  have  a  crust  to  eat,  or  a  roof  to 
cover  us." 

"O,  dear,  what  poor  people!"  I  ought 
not  to  stay.  But  it  seemed  they  were  to 
have  something  to-night  better  than  crusts. 
Harr'et  was  frying  pancakes, — how  could 
she  afford  it?  —  and  shaking  them  out  of 


182  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

the  kettle  with  a  long-handled  skimmer 
into  a  pan  in  a  chair.  She  brought  me 
one,  which  she  called  her  "try-cake;"  but 
it  didn't  look  like  Ruth's,  and  I  was  too 
homesick  to  eat ;  so  I  managed  to  slip  it 
into  my  pocket. 

Harr'et  wore  heavy  calfskin  shoes,  and 
shook  the  house  fearfully  when  she  walked. 
I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  what  she  had 
said  about  the  roof,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
it  might  fall  any  minute  and  "  cover  us," 
sure  enough. 

While  I  sat  on  the  door-step  watching 
her,  all  forlorn,  she  drew  out  a  red  arm 
chair,  gave  it  a  little  twitch,  as  you  would 
to  a  sunshade,  and  lo !  it  turned  into  a 
table,  with  a  round  top.  Then  she  covered 
it  with  a  cloth,  from  a  drawer  in  the 
chair  part  of  the  table,  and  put  on  some 
green  and  white  dishes. 


THE   FIRST   CAR   RIDE.  183 

When  tea  was  ready,  the  whistling  man 
seemed  to  know  it,  and  came  in.  It  didn't 
look  very  inviting  to  me.  The  biscuits 
were  specked  with  brown  spots  as  if  the 
oven  had  freckled  them;  and  I  didn't  like 
molasses  for  sauce. 

I  thought  of  home,  and  the  nice  supper 
cousin  Lydia  was  eating  there,  and  could 
almost  see  her  sitting  next  to  mother, 
with  my  purse  in  her  pocket,  and  my 
ticket  too.  And  I  could  almost  see  Fel, 
and  hear  her  queer  grandpa  asking  her 
questions,  while  Miss  Ruble  looked  on,  all 
smiling,  and  dressed  in  her  wedding-gown, 
of  course. 

They  all  thought  I  was  lost,  and  they 
should  never  see  me  again.  Perhaps  they 
never  would.  How  could  I  go  home  with 
out  a  ticket?  Once  there  was  a  man  put 


184  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

off  the  car  because  he  couldn't  show  a 
ticket.  Fel  saw  the  "  driver "  do  it. 

That  thought  choked  me,  together  with 
the  sudden  recollection  that  I  hadn't  told 
Harr'et  my  purse  was  gone.  She  and  Pe 
ter  might  be  expecting  to  make  quite  a  lit 
tle  sum  out  of  my  board,  enough  to  keep 
the  roof  on  a  while  longer. 

"Do  eat,   child,"  said   the   man. 

"I  didn't  tell  you,  sir,"  I  sobbed,  "that 
the  railroad  ran  off  with  my  purse,  — 
cousin  Lydia,  I  mean,  —  and  I  haven't  the 
leastest  thing  to  pay  you  with ! " 

I  drew  out  my  handkerchief  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  out  flew  the  pancake.  Peter 
and  Harriet  looked  at  it  and  smiled,  and 
I  hid  my  face  in  shame. 

"Never  you  worry  your  little  head  about 
money,"  said  Peter,  kindly.  w  I  know 
young  ladies  about  your  size  ain't  in  the 


THE    FIRST   CAR   RIDE.  185 

habit  of  travelling  with  their  pockets  full 
of  rocks let  alone  doughnuts." 

O,  what  a  kind  man!  And  how  I  had 
mistaken  him  !  I  forgave  him  at  once  for 
calling  me  poor  sissy. 

"If  you've  done  your  supper,  Peter,  I 
motion  you  take  her  out  and  show  her 
the  sheep  and  lambs." 

Peter  did  so,  besides  beguiling  me  with 
pleasant  talk;  but  pleasantest  of  all  was 
the  remark,  — 

"Don't  be  a  bit  concerned  about  your 
ticket ;  I'll  make  that  all  right  to-morrow." 

And  this  was  the  man  I  had  been  so 
afraid  of,  only  because  he  was  rough-look 
ing,  and  liked  to  make  jokes. 

He  told  me  his  name  was  Peter  Noble, 
and  Harr'et  was  his  sister,  and  kept  house 
for  him;  and  I  actually  told  him  in  con 
fidence  that  I  meant  to  go  to  Italy  when 


186  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

I  grew  to  be  a  lady ;  for  we  became  close 
friends  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  felt  that 
he  could  be  trusted. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  we  went  back 
to  the  kitchen ;  but  there  was  Harriet, 
laughing. 

"Whose   kitty?"    said   she. 

And  it  was  Silvertoes,  lapping  milk  out 
of  a  saucer  by  the  stove.  She  was  very 
hungry,  and  I  suppose  came  to  that  house 
because  it  was  so  near  the  depot.  I  felt 
as  happy  as  Robinson  Crusoe  when  he 
found  Friday.  My  trials  were  now  nearly 
over. 

I  remember  little  more,  except  Peter's 
taking  me  into  a  car  next  day  in  his 
arms,  and  Harriet's  giving  me  my  kitty 
through  .the  window.  I  hope  I  thanked 
them,  but  am  not  sure.  That  was  the  last 
I  saw  of  them ;  but  I  carried  the  marks 


THE   FIRST   CAR   RIDE.  187 

of  Harriet's  "try-cake"  while  my  frock 
lasted,  for  soap  took  out  the  color. 

The  "  driver "  treated  me  with  marked 
politeness,  and  when  we  reached  Willow- 
brook  Corner,  put  me  into  the  yellow 
stage,  with  as  much  care  as  if  I  had  been 
a  china  tea-set. 

There  was  a  shout  when  I  got  home,  for 
all  the  family  were  at  the  gate. 


188  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BETTER   THAN    KITTENS. 

YES,  they  seemed  just  as  glad  to  see 
me  as  if  I  was  the  Queen  of  England, 
and  had  been  gone  all  the  days  of  my  life. 
Father,  especially,  looked  really  overjoyed. 

"  How  they  must  have  missed  me  I " 
thought  I,  springing  out  of  the  coach  and 
falling  headlong  over  old  Towser.  "O, 
please  catch  that  kitten." 

Ned  seized  the  empty  basket  and  whirled 
it  over  his  head. 

"  Who  cares  for  such  trash  ?  We've  got 
something  in  the  house  that's  better  than 
sixteen  kittens." 


BETTER    THAN    KITTENS.  189 

"  Rabbits  ?  " 

"Come  and  see,"  said  7Ria,  giving  me 
one  hand,  while  she  stroked  Silvertoes 
with  the  other. 

"O,  I  don't  believe  it's  anything.  Is  it 
wax  beads?  You  haven't  asked  where  I 
came  from,  nor  whose  house  I  staid  to. 
There  was  a  woman  with  gold  beads,  and 
he  called  her  Harret,  and  — " 

"Yes,  I  knew  they'd  take  good  care  of 
you,"  said  cousin  Lydia. 

"And  where  d'you  s'pose  I  found  my 
kitty?"  But  no  one  seemed  to  hear.  I 
had  expected  to  be  pelted  with  questions 
as  to  my  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping, 
and  to  be  pitied  for  the  late  distress  of 
my  mind.  But  no  one  showed  the  slight 
est  curiosity  ;  they  all  seemed  in  a  great 
hurry  to  get  into  the  house. 

I  stopped  talking,  and  walked  along  with 


190  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

all  the  dignity  of  an  offended  pea-chicken. 
There  might  or  might  not  be  something 
worth  going  to  see ;  but  I  was  resolved  to 
keep  perfectly  cool.  Up  stairs?  Well,  up 
stairs  then,  or  up  in  the  attic,  or  out  on 
the  roof,  —  it  made  no  difference  to  me.  I 
could  keep  from  asking  questions  as  long 
as  they  could,  if  not  longer. 

O,  mother's  room,  was  it?  Well,  I'd 
been  wondering  all  the  while  where  mother 
was,  only  I  wouldn't  ask.  Dear  me,  was 
she  sick?  "So  glad  to  see  little  Madge," 
she  said,  kissing  me  over  and  over  again. 
"  And  what  a  hard  time  I  had  had." 

There,  she  knew  how  I'd  been  suffering, 
and  was  just  going  to  ask  me  some  ques 
tions,  when  that  troublesome  Ned  whisked 
me  right  up  in  his  arms,  and  whirled  me 
round  towards  the  fireplace. 


BETTER   THAN   KITTENS.  191 

"If  you've  got  any  eyes,  Maggie,  look 
there." 

My  eyes  were  good  enough,  if  that  was 
all ;  but  what  was  that  woman  sitting  there 
for?  I  thought  she  had  a  heap  of  woollen 
clothes  in  her  lap. 

Father  took  it. 

"Come  here,  Totty-wax." 

I  put  out  my  hands,  and  felt  something 
as  soft  as  kittens. 

"Presto,  change!"  cried  Ned,  and  pulled 
down  the  top  of  the  blanket.  There  lay  a 
little,  wrinkled,  rosy  face,  a  baby's  face, 
and  over  it  was  moving  a  little  wrinkled 
hand. 

I  jumped,  and  then  I  screamed ;  and  then 
I  ran  out  of  the  room  and  back  a^ain. 

o 

"O,  O,  O!  Stop  her!  Hold  her!"  said 
Ned. 


192  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

But  they  couldn't  do  it.  I  rushed  up 
to  the  baby,  who  cried  in  my  face. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  I ;  and  then  I  burst 
into  tears. 

"Your  little  sister,"  said  father. 

"It  isn't,"  sobbed  I,  and  broke  out 
laughing. 

Everybody  else  laughed,  too. 

"  Say  that  again,"  said  I. 

"  Your  little  sister,"  repeated  father. 

"Does  Fel  know  it?  And  it  isn't  Ned's 
brother?"  seizing  father  by  the  whiskers. 
"And  he  can't  set  her  on  the  wood-pile! 
Came  down  from  heaven.  What'm  I  cry 
ing  for?  Came  down  particular  purpose 
for  me." 

"  Yes,  Totty-wax,"  said  father,  smiling, 
with  a  tear  in  the  corner  of  his  eye,  — 

"  Twas  for  my  accommodation 
Nature  rose  when  I  was  born." 


BETTER    TIIAX   KITTENS.  193 

"Has  this  child  had  any  supper?"  asked 
mother,  in  a  faint  voice  from  the  bed. 

"No,  she  can't  eat,"  laughed  I;  "her 
face  looks  like  a  roast  apple." 

"Your  mother  means  you,  Maggie.  You 
are  tired  and  excited,"  said  cousin  Lydia. 
"Euth  made  cream-cakes  to-night." 

"  But  I  shan't  go,  't ho  tit  I  can  carry  the 
baby.  Ned's  holding  her.  She  isn't  his 
brother.  I  haven't  had  her  in  my  arms 
once.  How  good  God  was  !  O,  dear,  what 
teenty  hands !  She  can't  swallow  'em,  on 
'count  of  her  arms.  Sent  particular  pur 
pose  for  me — father  said  so.  'Eia  Parlin, 
she's  nowhere  near  your  age.  You  have 
everything,  but  you  can't  have  this.  She 
gapes.  She  knows  how  to  ;  she's  found  her 
mouth ;  she's  found  her  mouth  ! " 

And  so  I  ran  on  and  on,  like  a  brook 
in  a  freshet,  and  might  never  have  stopped, 
13 


194  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

if  they  had  not  taken  me  out  of  the  room, 
and  tied  me  in  a  high  chair  before  a  table 
full  of  nice  things.  And  Ruthie  stood  there 
with  a  smile  in  her  eyes,  and  said  if  I 
spoke  another  word,  I  shouldn't  see  baby 
again  that  night. 

I  couldn't  help  pitying  Ned.  I  wasn't 
sure  I  had  treated  him  just  right.  I  had 
prayed,  off  and  on,  as  much  as  two  or  three 
weeks  in  all,  that  God  would  send  me  a 
sister,  and  of  course  that  was  why  she  had 
come.  I  didn't  wish  Ned  to  know  this ;  he 
would  be  so  sorry  he  hadn't  thought  of  it 
himself,  and  prayed  for  a  brother.  I  told 
Fel  about  it,  and  she  didn't  know  whether 
it  was  quite  fair  or  not.  "  Yes,  it  was, 
too,"  said  I;  for  I  never  would  allow  Fel 
the  last  word.  "It  was  fair;  Ned's  older 'n 
me,  and  ought  to  say  his  prayers  a  great 
deal  more  reggurly" 


BETTER    THAN    KITTENS.  195 

O,  that  wonderful  new  sister!  For  days 
I  never  tired  of  admiring  her. 

"Look,  mamma!  'Ria,  did  you  ever, 
ever  see  such  blue  eyes?" 

And  then  I  sat  and  talked  to  the  new 
sister,  and  asked  her 

"Where  did  she  get  her  eyes  of  blue?" 

But  she  did  not  answer,  as  the  baby 
does  in  the  song,  — 

"Out  of  the  sky,  as  I  came  through." 

"What  makes  the  light  in  them  sparkle  and  spin? 
Some  of  the  starry  spikes  left  in." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  pearly  ear? 
God  spake,  and  it  came  out  to  hear." 

Ah!  If  she  could  only  have  talked, 
wouldn't  she  have  told  some  sweet  stories 
about  angels? 

I  couldn't  have  left  her  for  anything  else 
but  that  wedding;  but  Ruthie  promised  to 


196  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

take  good  care  of  her  —  and  I  could  trust 
Ruthie  !  Ned  wasn't  going ;  there  were  to 
be  no  children  but  Fel  and  me.  Well,  yes, 
Gust  was  there ;  but  that  was  because  he 
happened  to  be  in  the  house.  The  wed 
ding  was  in  Madam  Allen's  parlors,  /stood 
up  before  the  minister,  with  wax  beads  on 
my  neck,  and  white  slippers  on  my  feet. 
Somebody  else  stood  there,  too ;  for  one 
wouldn't  have  been  enough.  Fel  dressed 
just  like  me  —  in  white,  with  the  same  kind 
of  beads ;  only  she  was  pale,  and  I  wasn't, 
and  she  looked  like  a  white  rosebud,  and 
I  didn't. 

We  stood  between  the  "shovin'  doors,"  — 
that  was  what  Gust  called  them, —  and  there 
was  a  bride  and  bridegroom,  too.  I  nearly 
forgot  that.  I  remember  lights,  and  flow 
ers,  and  wedding  cake ;  and  by  and  by 
Madam  Allen  came  along,  looking  so  grand 


BETTER   THAN   KITTENS.  197 

in  her  white  turban,  and  gave  the  bride  a 
bridal  rose,  but  not  Fel  or  me  a  single  bud. 
Then,  when  people  kissed  the  bride,  I  kissed 
her,  too,  and  she  whispered,  — 

w  Call  me  aunt  Martha,  dear." 

"O,  yes,  Miss  Rubie,"  said  I;  "you  are 
my  cousin,  aunt  Martha." 

For  I  could  not  understand  exactly. 

Uncle  John  hugged  me,  and  said  they 
were  all  going  away  in  the  morning,  he  and 
aunt  Martha,  and  Zed ;  and  then  I  felt 
sorry,  even  with  my  wax  beads  on,  and 
said  to  father,  — 

"I  tell  you  what,  I  love  my  uncle  John 
that  was" 

No,  Fly,  he  didn't  have  any  horse  then 
called  "  Lighting  Dodger ; "  but  it  was  the 
same  uncle  John,  and  aunt  Martha  is  the 
very  woman  who  pets  you  so  much,  and 


198  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY". 

has  that  pretty  clock,  with  a  pendulum  in 
the  shape  of  a  little  boy  in  a  swing. 

After  that  wedding  there  was  a  long  win 
ter.  I  went  to  school,  but  Fel  didn't.  She 
looked  so  white  that  I  supposed  her  mother 
was  afraid  she  would  freeze.  Miss  Rubie 
was  gone,  and  there  were  no  lessons  to 
learn ;  but  Madam  Allen  didn't  care  for 
that ;  she  said  Fel  was  too  sick  to  study. 
Whenever  I  didn't  have  to  take  care  of 
the  baby,  I  went  to  see  her ;  but  that  baby 
needed  a  great  deal  of  care  !  For  the  first 
month  of  her  life  I  wanted  to  sit  by  her 
cradle,  night  and  day,  and  not  let  any  one 
else  come  near  her.  The  next  month  I  was 
willing  Ned  should  have  her  half  the  time ; 
and  by  the  third  month  I  cried  because  I 
had  to  take  care  of  her  at  all. 


GOOD   BY.  199 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GOOD   BY. 

IT  happened  that  she  was  a  cross  baby.  It 
did  not  take  her  long  to  forget  all  about 
heaven.  She  liked  to  pull  hair,  and  she 
liked  to  scratch  faces ;  and  no  matter  how 
much  you  trotted  her  up  and  down,  she  just 
opened  her  toothless  mouth  and  cried. 

"  She's  a  wicked,  awful  baby  !  "  exclaimed 
I,  scowling  at  her  till  my  eyes  ached. 

"Div  her  a  pill,  /  would,"  said  Ned, 
laughing.  He  could  laugh,  for  he  didn't 
have  to  sit  and  hold  her,  as  I  did. 

"Poor  little  thing  isn't  well,"  said  mother. 

w  I  don't  'spect  she  knows  whether's  she's 


200  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

well  or  not,"  returned  I,  in  disgust.  "  She 
just  hates  everybody,  and  that's  what  she's 
crying  about." 

"  You  grieve  me,  Madge.  I  thought  you 
loved  this  dear"  sister." 

"  Well,  I  did ;  but  I  don't  love  her  any 
more,  and  I  don't  ever  want  to  rock  a  baby 
that  hates  me  so  hard  she  can't  keep  her 
mouth  shut." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  are  not  glad  God 
sent  her?  O,  Madge!" 

"Yes'm,  that's  what  I  mean.  I'm  real 
sorry  he  sent  her,  and  I  wish  he'd  take  her 
back  again." 

Hasty,  bitter  speech  !  Even  a  child  knows 
better  than  to  talk  so  recklessly.  Next  day, 
and  for  many  days,  those  words  came  back 
to  my  heart  like  sharp  knives.  Little  sister 
was  very  ill,  and  I  knew  by  the  looks  of  peo 
ple's  faces  that  they  thought  she  would  cross 


GOOD   BY.  201 

the  dark  river,  on  the  other  side  of  which 
stand  the  pearly  gates.  Mother  saw  me 
roving  about  the  house,  crying  in  corners, 
and  sent  me  away  to  the  Aliens  to  stay  all 
night.  When  I  got  there,  Madam  Allen 
took  me  right  up  in  her  motherly  arms,  and 
tried  to  soothe  me ;  but  I  refused  to  be  com 
forted. 

"  I  thought  baby  looked  a  little  better  this 
morning,"  said  she. 

I  shook  my  head. 

w  Has  baby  grown  any  worse  ?  " 

"No'm." 

"Then  why  do  you  shake  your  head?" 

«  'Cause,"  sobbed  I,  "  'cause  —  " 

And  then,  hiding  behind  her  turban,  I 
whispered,  — 

"O,  if  you  tell  God  you  want  anything,  is 
that  a  prayer  ?  " 


202  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Yes,  dear,  if  you  tell  him  you  want  little 
sister  to  get  well,  that  is  a  prayer." 

I  moaned  still  more  bitterly  at  these  words, 
and  slid  out  of  her  lap. 

"Why,  what  is  it,  darling?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  said  I ;  "  I  can't,  I  can't. 
There  isn't  anybody  in  this  world  I  can  tell 
but  just  Fel." 

Then  Madam  Allen  went  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  us  two  little  girls  alone. 

"O,  Fel,"  said  I,  as  soon  as  my  sobs 
would  let  me  speak,  ff  I  said  I  wished  God 
Would  take  my  little  sister  back  again." 

Fel  looked  very  much  shocked. 

"And  O,  I'm  afraid  it  was  a  truly  prayer, 
and  God  '11  do  it." 

"  No,  I  guess  it  wasn't  a  truly  prayer, 
Madge." 

"  What  makes  you  think  it  wasn't?  "  cried 
I,  eagerly,  for  I  supposed  she  must  know. 


GOOD   BY.  203 

"Wasn't  you  mad  when  you  said  it?" 

"Yes,  very.  She  made  that  long  scratch 
on  my  nose,  and  I  was  very  mad." 

"  She  did  dig  awful  deep  ;  I  don't  wonder 
you  felt  bad,"  said  Fel,  soothingly.  "But 
you  didn't  want  her  to  die,  any  more'n  any 
thing;  now  did  you?" 

"No,  O,  no!" 

"Well,  then,  if  you  didn't  want  her  to 
die,  God  knows  you  didn't;  for  he  knows 
everything,  don't  he?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"And  so  it  wasn't  a  truly  prayer," 
added  Fel,  positively. 

"And  won't  he  answer  it?" 

"Why,  what  you  'spose?  Of  course  not, 
Madge." 

She  seemed  to  feel  so  clear  upon  the 
subject,  that  I  began  to  breathe  more 


20J:  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

freely.  O,  it  was  everything  to  have  such 
a  wise  little  friend  ! 

"But  I  oughtn't  to  said  it,  Fel !  O, 
dear !  What  s'pose  made  ine  ?  You  never 
say  bad  things,  never ! " 

Fel  thought  a  moment,  and  then  an 
swered,  as  she  looked  at  me  with  her  clear, 
happy  eyes,— 

"Well,  you  have  lots  of  things  to  plague 
you,  Madge ;  but  I  don't.  Everybody's 
real  good  to  me,  because  I'm  sick." 

I  looked  at  her,  and  began  to  cry  again. 
My  little  heart  had  been  stirred  to  its  very 
depths,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  have  her 
speak  of  being  sick. 

"Now,  Fel  Allen,"  said  I,  "you  don't 
s'pose  you're  going  to  die  'fore  I  do?  I 
can't  live  'thout  you !  If  you  die,  I'll  die 
too." 


GOOD   BY.  205 

"Why,  I  never  said  a  thing  about  dying," 
returned  Fel,  in  surprise. 

"Well,  you  won't  never  leave  me,  will 
you?  Say  you  won't  never!  Just  think 
of  you  up  in  heaven  and  me  down  here.  I 
can't  bear  it !  " 

"Why,  Madge." 

"Well,  if  you  should  go  up  to  heaven 
first,  Fel,  you'd  sit  there  on  those  steps, 
with  a  harp  in  your  hand,  and  think  about 
me ;  how  I  said  cross  things  to  you." 

"Why,  what  cross  things  did  ever  you 
say  to  me,  Madge  Parlin?" 

"There,  there,"  cried  I,  smiling  through 
my  tears,  and  beginning  to  dance;  "have 
you  forgot?  O,  that's  nice!  Why,  Fel,  I 
called  you  a  lie-girl." 

"O,  well,  I  don't  care  if  you  did.  I 
wasn't,  was  I?" 


206  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"And  I  called  you  a  borrow-girl,  too. 
And  I  drowned  you,  and  I  —  I  —  " 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  talking  about  that," 
said  Fel,  "or  you'll  make  me  cry;  for 
you're  just  the  nicest  girl.  And  who  cares 
if  you  do  scold  sometimes?  Why,  it's  just 
in  fun,  and  I  like  to  hear  you." 

Now,  Dotty  Dimple,  I  declare  to  you  that 
this  conversation  is  sweeter  to  my  memory 
than  "a  nest  of  nightingales."  Naughty  as 
I  was,  Fel  didn't  know  I  was  naughty ! 

When  I  went  home  next  morning,  the 
little  Louise  was  much  better,  and  in  a  few 
days  seemed  as  well  as  ever.  I  was  very 
thankful  God  knew  I  was  not  in  earnest, 
and  had  not  taken  me  at  my  word,  and 
called  her  back  to  heaven. 

She  was  never  quite  as  cross  from  that 
time,  and  I  had  many  happy  hours  «with 
her,  though,  as  I  told  Fel,  - — 


GOOD    BY.  207 

"She's  cross  enougJt  now,  and  sometimes 
seems  's  if  I  couldn't  forgive  her;  but  I 
always  do ;  I  don't  dass  not  to  ! " 

I  was  not  required  to  hold  her  very  much, 
for  Fel  was  not  well,  and  wanted  me  with 
her  half  the  time.  Mother  was  always 
willing  I  should  go,  and  never  said,  — 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  be  pacify 
ing  the  baby?" 

I  never  dreamed  that  Fel  was  really  sick. 
I  only  knew  she  grew  sweeter  every  day, 
and  clung  to  me  more  and  more.  I  had 
stopped  teasing  her  long  ago,  and  tried  to 
make  her  happy.  I  couldn't  have  said  a 
cross  word  to  her  that  winter  any  more  than 
I  could  have  crushed  a  white  butterfly. 

One  day  I  was  going  to  see  her,  with 
some  jelly  in  my  little  basket,  when  "the 
Polly  woman  "  walked  mournfully  into  the 
yard. 


208  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"I've  just  come  from  Squire  Allen's,"  said 
she,  unfastening  her  shawl,  and  sighing  three 
times,  —  once  for  every  pin. 

"And  how  is  Fel?"  asked  mother. 

Polly  slowly  shook  her  head,  — 

"Very  low;  I  —  " 

Mother  looked  at  her,  and  then  at  me ; 
and  I  looked  at  her,  and  then  at  Polly. 

"Dr.  Foster  says  her  brain  has  always 
been  too  active,  and  — " 

"Madge,  you'd  better  run  along,"  said 
mother.  "  The  baby's  asleep  now  ;  but  she'll 
wake  up  and  want  you." 

I  went  with  a  new  thought  and  a  new 
fear,  though  I  did  not  know  what  I  thought 
or  what  I  feared. 

When  I  reached  Squire  Allen's,  Ann 
Smilie  came  down  the  path  to  meet  me. 

I  asked,  " Is  Fel  very  low  ?    Polly  said  so." 

And  she  answered, — 


GOOD   BY.  209 

*  Why,  no,  indeed ;  she  is  as  well  as  com 
mon.  Polly  is  so  queer." 

I  went  into  the  house,  and  Madam  Allen 
drew  me  close  to  her,  and  said, — 

"Bless  you,  child,  for  coming  here  to 
cheer  our  little  darling." 

When  she  set  me  down,  I  saw  she  had 
been  crying.  I  had  never  seen  her  with  red 
eyes  before. 

r  You  and  Fel  may  stay  in  the  warm  sit 
ting-room,"  said  she;  "and  Ann  shall  carry 
in  some  sponge  cake  and  currant  shrub,  for 
Fel  hardly  tasted  her  dinner." 

I  remember  how  Fel  clapped  her  hands, 
and  smiled  to  see  me ;  and  how  Ann 
brought  the  cake  into  the  sitting-room,  and 
drew  up  a  little  table  before  the  fire.  We 
sat  and  played  keep  house,  and  sipped  cur 
rant  shrub  out  of  some  silver  goblets  which 
had  crossed  the  ocean. 
14 


210  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

It  is  a  beautiful  picture  I  am  seeing  now, 
as  I  shut  my  eyes :  Fel,  with  that  lovely 
smile  on  her  face,  as  if  some  one  were  whis 
pering  pleasant  things  in  her  ear. 

"I  love  you  so,  and  it's  so  nice;"  said  I. 

Gust  came  in,  and  she  took  his  hand  and 
patted  it. 

"Yes,"  said  she;  "I  love  you  and  Gust, 
and  it  is  nice ;  but  we'll  have  nicer  times 
when  we  get  to  heaven,  you  know." 

Gust  gave  her  one  little  hug,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  room.  Then  I  remember  throw 
ing  myself  on  the  rug  and  crying;  for 
there  was  an  ache  at  my  heart,  though  I 
could  not  tell  why. 

Grandpa  Harrington  came  in,  and  began 
to  poke  the  fire." 

"Well,  well,"  said  he;  "its  hard  for  one 
to  be  taken  and  the  other  left,  so  it  is. 


GOOD   BY.  211 

But  Jesus  blessed  little  children;  and  I 
wouldn't  cry,  my  dear." 

That  was  the  last  time  I  ever  played  with 
Fel.  She  grew  feverish  that  night,  and  the 
doctor  said  she  must  not  see  any  one. 
Something  was  the  matter  with  her  head, 
and  she  did  not  know  people.  I  heard  she 
had  "  water  on  the  brain,"  and  wondered  if 
they  put  it  on  to  make  it  feel  cool. 

There,  children,  I  do  not  like  to  talk 
about  it.  It  was  all  over  in  three  short 
weeks,  and  then  the  angels  called  for  Fel. 
She  was  "  taken "  and  I  was  "  left,"  and  it 
seemed  "very  hard."  I  grieved  for  a  long 
while,  and  wanted  to  go  too;  but  Madam 
Allen  said,  — 

"You  are  all  the  little  girl  I  have  now 
to  take  in  my  arms.  Don't  you  want  to 
stay  in  this  world  to  make  Fel's  mother 
happy?" 


212  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "I  do." 
And  my  own  mamma  said,  — 
"The  baby  needs  you,  too.     See,  she  has 
learned  to  hold  her  hands  to  you  ! " 

They  all  tried  to  comfort  me,  and  by  and 
by  I  felt  happy  again.  I  am  told  that  the 
loss  of  my  dear  little  friend  made  me  a  dif 
ferent  child.  I  grew  more  kind  and  gentle 
in  my  ways,  more  thoughtful  of  other 
people.  Not  very  good,  by  any  means,  but 
trying  harder  to  be  good. 

Well,  I  believe  this  is  all  I  have  to  tell 
you  of  my  little  days,  for  very  soon  I  began 
to  be  a  large  girl. 

I  am  leaving  off  at  a  sad  place,  do  you 
say,  Prudy?  Why,  I  don't  think  so.  To 
me  it  is  the  most  beautiful  part  of  all.  Just 
think  of  my  dear  little  friend  growing  up  to 
womanhood  in  heaven  !  I  ought  to  be  will 
ing  to  spare  her.  O,  yes ! 


GOOD   BY.  213 

She  was  always  better  than  I,  and  what 
nwst  she  be  now?  It  would  frighten  me 
to  think  of  that,  only  she  never  knew  she 
was  good,  and  had  such  a  way  of  not  seeing 
the  badness  in  me. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  darling  Fel,  and 
I  think  she  will  remember  me  if  I  should 
live  to  be  very  old.  Yes,  I  do  believe  she 
loves  me  still,  and  is  waiting  for  rne,  and 
will  be  very  glad  to  see  me  when  I  go  to 
the  Summer  Land. 

Here  is  a  lock  of  her  hair,  Fly.  You  see 
it  is  a  beautiful  golden  brown,  and  as  soft 
as  your  own.  A  certain  poet  says, — 

"There  seems  a  love  in  hair,  though  it  be  dead." 

And   that  is  why  I  shall  always   keep  this 
little  tress. 

Now  kiss  me,  dears,  and  we  will  all  go 


214  AUNT  MADGE'S  STORY. 

to  the  study,  and  see  what  uncle   Gustus 
is  doing. 

Yes,  Fly,  I  did  like  your  uncle  Gustus, 
because  he  was  Fel's  brother.  Well,  — 
I  don't  know  —  yes,  dear,  —  perhaps  that 
was  part  of  one  little  reason  why  I  mar 
ried  him. 


[Clarke.  Re 

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